Over the Edge
by amber505
Summary: A teenage girl apparently commits suicide, leaving Grissom, Catherine, Sara and Greg to investigate the events prior to her death. Meanwhile, Warrick and Nick make a bet on what happened to a missing showgirl.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CSI or the characters, except for those implanted into the story so that it makes sense.  
**  
Summery: **A teenage girl apparently commits suicide, leaving the CSI team to investigate the events prior to her death. Meanwhile, Warrick and Nick make a bet on what happened to a missing showgirl.

**Spoilers: **We'll say this is set sometime during season 7, so there might be the occasional reference to an earlier episode but no obvious spoilers that I can think of.

**Pairings: **This is not a fluffy/shippy story but, as written by a GSR fan, there will probably be slight Grissom/Sara hints (nothing more than is in the show)

**Research: **I did my best to make this story as plausible as possible, which including researching a number of things. Having said that, I am not perfect and I imagine there are several mistakes in this. I am also an English writer with no American beta, so I apologise for any "English-isms" which I apparently use.

* * *

The silver 2002 Lexus sped down Palm Street with such an ease it impressed the driver, Casino owner, Robert Delquisk as his hands clutched the leather-bound steering wheel. Though a fairly recent addition in the forty something man's life, the car was fast becoming his pride and joy. Slowing down as the beauty approached his white-brick mansion of a home; Delquisk's eyes darted nervously towards the glove compartment. Inside, he knew, was the .38 pistol revolver he had bought solely for the protection of his daughter. At just fifteen years old, Anna Delquisk was pretty sensible for her age. She was smart and as beautiful as her mother had been when she was younger. Delquisk supposed the main thing that had prevented him from buying a gun before was the memory of his wife, Elaine, being shot dead some seven years earlier. She had been devoted to the police force and less devoted to being a mother. So since then he had vowed to be the best father a little girl could wish for. He was not a violent man and he certainly hoped Anna would not grow up to be involved with guns and such. Yet he had known it right from the minute she came to him for help that she wasn't asking for his usual method of throwing money in the vague direction of a problem to make it go away. Anna was serious, and scared. She needed the protection that, rich as he was, her own father could not give her. A weapon such as the revolver would be of much better use to the girl should she ever need it and he hoped to God she wouldn't…

Owning a gun wasn't really a big deal in the state of Nevada- lots of people had one for piece of mind. That was all he wanted- to know his daughter, his sweet little daughter, was in no real danger. The difference between wrong and right didn't come into it when it came to protecting Anna. He hadn't remarried since Elaine's death and the young girl was all he had left. Under the circumstances, whatever little of them he knew, he thought he was being quite rational.

His hand pressed against the glove compartment, forcing it open. He was tentative and discreet about reaching in and pulling out the package containing the gun. For a while he just sat it on his lap and stared at it.

How much protection would a teenage girl really have from a gun? Would she know how to use it? Could she defend herself if it ever came to it?

Robert was apprehensive about giving a revolver to a child. Good intentions or not, the casino manager in him told him he had to find out what sort of trouble Anna was in before he gave her the weapon. Gun fights had happened in his casino before and he had the luxury of security to sort it out- no-one ever got hurt. But a teenage girl shouldn't own a gun for any reason at all. What sort of trouble had she got herself into? Perhaps he had been in 'act now think later' mode when he had hurried out to purchase a gun before he knew the extent of her problems.

_Surely nothing could be so bad a fifteen year old girl would need a gun to act as her protection. _

Removing the keys from the ignition, Delquisk pushed open the car door and got out. In one hand he held the Lexus' keys; in the other was the carefully held, fatal packaging. He took one, two steps towards the house before stopping and looking up at it. It was indeed a vast house, fronted by an open wooden porch and with a pointed roof of the same red-brown colour. It might have been a big house for just him and Anna to live in, but he had earned every brick of it. Tonight, however, something about the house struck him as odd. He took a few more cautious steps towards it, staring at it as though it was about to come alive. Having never been a superstitious man, Delquisk was immediately against the idea of a premonition. Yet he did not dismiss the odd feeling the house had as he stepped inside, calling up the stairs to his daughter, "Anna! Anna, could you come down here please?"

At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and looked at the gun package he still held awkwardly in his left hand, then he called out once more, "Anna?"

Looking around as if to check that no-one else was there, he dropped the package on the oak telephone table and started up the stairs. Having a bedroom at the back of the house sometimes meant Anna didn't hear him. This was often the case if she was playing loud music, though he didn't hear anything and it must have been approaching midnight anyway. Perhaps she was asleep. He reached the closed door of her room-no music.

"Anna?" he said, lowering his voice even though he had to wake her to talk with her. She had been so vague during their talk over supper. All he knew was that she was in real danger. The room was in darkness when he entered and he hated to disturb her should she indeed be sleeping, but this couldn't wait. The crystal chandelier fixed dead-centre of the ceiling flickered on gradually, until at last the 'peaches and cream' bedroom lit up. Delquisk's eyes fell on the empty white chrome double bed where he had expected to find Anna at this hour. He stepped further onto the plush carpet-more oatmeal than peach- calling out her name.

Nothing.

Another step put him beside the bed. That's when he saw her. She looked angelic as ever hanging from the silver chrome curtain rail that separated her en suit from her bedroom.

* * *

It was one of those nights when, with lack of better things to do, CSI supervisor of the night- often referred to as 'graveyard'- shift, Gil Grissom was attempting paperwork. It seemed to the entomologist that Las Vegas was dead. The joke had amused only Grissom himself when he had shared it with his team earlier that evening in the break room of the Las Vegas Metro Police Department's crime lab. 

"You sound like you've been taking comedian tips from Greg," Sara Sidle had remarked, though he had meant it more in irony than he imagined ex lab-tech, Greg Sanders would have done.

Dead as 'the city that never sleeps' was, Grissom still had an unpleasant-looking pile of paperwork stacked up on his desk that he really would have tended to had the entrance of Catherine Willows not disturbed him. The female, red-blonde in hair colour and dressed casually for work in a loose jacket over a turquoise blouse, stepped gingerly towards him, "Hey, Brass just paged me. We got a female DB, Palm Street."

Slowly removing his wire-framed reading glasses, Grissom glanced down at his own pager sitting on the desk in front of him, "How come I didn't get told?"

Catherine shrugged, failing to hide the smug look that had taken shape of her face, "Does it matter? We need to get down there," she waited until Gil had vacated his seat and was heading for the door of his office where she stood before adding, "Big place we're heading to apparently, you think we should bring someone else along?"

Grissom, already out of the office and heading to the building's car park, replied passively with, "Bring whoever you can find. I think Sara and Greg are somewhere around."

"I'll go find them then, shall I?" she said to herself.

About half an hour later, a black Tahoe pulled up outside Robert Delquisk's mansion of a home. Grissom and Catherine got out of the front, followed by Sara and Greg in the back. Noticing Captain Jim Brass under the faint porch light, Grissom headed his way.

"Gil," the detective greeted him "female DB. Looks like suicide. Poor girl's only fifteen."

Silver tool-box-like field kit in hand, Grissom's eyes scanned the front of the house, "Who found her?"

"The father, Sofia's in there with him now," Brass supplied.

As the rest of the team reached the two men on the porch, Brass instructed them to follow him. All four CSIs made their way upstairs and into what appeared to be a regular teenage girl's room.

"This could be Lindsey's room," Catherine said, observing as much as the messy-yet-organized chrome furnished Peach and white bedroom as possible.

Of course, she had meant it hypothetically but that didn't stop Grissom from pointing out what was wrong with her statement.

"With the addition of an en suit," he said, snapping a few photographs of the young, fair-haired corpse hanging from the curtain rail.

"And this wardrobe!" Greg called from where he stood by the open closet "Man, if you can afford clothes like this then you're earning _way _more than what I am."

Catherine didn't bother to point out that she probably was earning a considerable amount more than him. Either way, she still couldn't afford most of the flashy labels she caught sight of in the closet.

"When did you become the expert on female clothing, Greg?" Sara joked, an almost unnoticeable flirtatious tone to her voice.

The brunette CSI then moved to take a look at the body. To Grissom she said, "What are you thinking?"

Her supervisor stared at the white desk stool kicked away on the floor before turning to face Sara, "That this wasn't a suicide."

"How come?" she asked, slightly annoyed that she had not yet come to this conclusion.

"Take a look at the stool. If she had stood on it, tied herself to the rail and then kicked it away, we'd expect it to fall forwards-"

"And this one is at an angle," she said, proudly finishing his sentence.

Grissom nodded, "Yes."

"So…we got a name for her?" Catherine asked from behind them.

All three turned to look at Brass who was still hovering in the doorway.

"Anna Delquisk," he answered.

"Delquisk?" Catherine stepped forward, leaving Grissom and Sara to begin searching through the bed-side cabinet "Not Bobby's daughter?"

"That's the one. You know Robert Delquisk?" the detective asked.

The criminalist gave a nonchalant shrug, "Sure I do, used to come in the French Palace," she paused as if waiting for a reaction and added "Long time ago…"

"Would you say Mr. Delquisk was the kind of man who could commit murder?" Grissom said, not really asking the question, more implying that it was true.

Obviously finding the question bizarre and unanswerable, Catherine shrugged again, "I'm no expert in psychology, Gil, but he never seemed violent..."

The smug smile Grissom wore told her he had reason to suspect. She was about to question his findings when Greg yelled form the other side of the room. Curious, all three CSIs, plus the Captain, crossed the room and found the newest addition to their team crouched on the floor pointing his flashlight under the bed. Sara, following the light source, knelt down beside Greg and retrieved the object he had found with a latex-gloved hand. She held the plastic bag up for everyone to see, "I could be wrong but-"

"Cannabis," Greg finished, causing all four to look in his direction.

"Forensics journal…toxicology," he said as if answering the 'and how would _you _know?' looks he was getting.

Grissom removed his camera from the strap round his neck and handed it to the nearest person (in this case Catherine), "Finish photographing for me."

His gaze then fell on the only other female present, Sara Sidle sealing the plant material in a paper evidence bag so to prevent the decay that would occur in a plastic one, "Sara, check the area where she was found. Dust the stool for prints…that kind of thing."

She nodded obediently, though still seemingly fazed at how little she had worked out herself.

"Greg, keep searching the room for evidence," he instructed the younger man, before turning to Captain Brass stood behind him, "I'd like to speak with Mr. Delquisk."

* * *

Reviews? Comments? Suggestions? 


	2. Chapter 2

The Delquisk's lounge was like that as a typical family. Gil Grissom entered to find Detective Sofia Curtis and a man he presumed was Robert Delquisk sat on separate two-seater leather couches. Positioned at an angle so to be viewable from either sat a large TV set, he estimated, about 50 inches with a flat LCD screen and both a DVD and VCR sat underneath it. A low-slung coffee table seemed to be the main feature of the immaculate room with its neutral cream walls and carpeting. There was no doubt about Robert Delquisk's wealth. There was doubt, however, that his daughter had taken her own life.

"Mr Delquisk?" Grissom asked the startled face of the man sitting on the sofa nearest him. "I'm Gil Grissom from the crime lab. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Crime lab?" Delquisk repeated, taking a glance at Sofia "I don't understand…I've already told this detective everything I know."

"Yes," the criminalist agreed "I'm sure you have. But my job is to find evidence, and right now the evidence is telling me that I need to ask you some questions of my own, Mr Delquisk."

"Evidence of what? Anna…Anna…did _this_," the man was obviously still upset about the loss of his daughter, it seemed to have come as a shock to him and Grissom knew from experience that most parents weren't able to comprehend the importance of an investigation. To Robert Delquisk, homicide wasn't an option concerning Anna's cause of death. To someone not trained to observe the way Grissom was, there was nothing to suggest anything other than suicide.

"My team and I will be looking into how Anna died," he explained "For the moment I'd appreciate it if you could just go over your original statement that you made with Detective Curtis."

Sofia herself looked confused but didn't question Grissom's reasons. She accepted the casual shrug Brass gave her when he sat down beside her (as Grissom sat on the other couch) to mean that this was just another of Grissom's 'following the evidence' things. She of all people knew not to get involved with that.

"So you last saw Anna when?" Grissom asked

"At supper…around 10, then I went out for a couple of hours. I came home at…at…just before midnight and I went up to check on Anna. She's a good girl, you know? I assumed she was asleep- like normal. But her bed…her bed was…was-" the man seemed to break down at this point, and his words were muffled from crying.

Grissom looked up at Brass and Sofia; dealing with people was certainly not his speciality.

Abandoning his original plan, Gil chose a new approach to questioning the distraught man.

"Mr Delquisk, did you touch the body or anything in the room when you found her?"

Delquisk seemed to contain his crying for a moment to look up at Grissom with confusion, "I…no I don't think so…"

"If Anna committed suicide, she would have stood on her desk stool and tied herself up, right?"

"_If_?" the bewildered father repeated, "What exactly are you people investigating?"

"Well, I'll need all the evidence before I can answer that. But she used the stool?"

"Yes it was…lying on the floor when I found her. She must have used it to…to…tie herself up…"

"Likely, but I did notice a set of visible prints on the stool. Made from some sort of dirt or oil…they looked too big to be hers."

Delquisk seemed to be thinking his words over but he didn't respond to them. Most people who didn't have his job weren't so quick at spotting signs of a homicide Grissom realised.

"Could I see your hands?" he asked.

"Wait…you're suggesting _I _did this?" Robert Delquisk shouted; he was obviously outraged at such a suggestion. Most people were.

"You've got no right, no right at all!" he stood up at this point, his rounded face reddening "Jesus…how could you even think I killed her? My own fucking daughter!"

"Mr Grissom is just trying to eliminate you as a suspect…" Sofia tried to calm the man.

"Don't give me that bullshit! My wife used to be a cop y'know."

"Well then I'm sure you'll understand-" Sofia tired again.

Delquisk cut her off, "I don't understand the need for all…_this_," he gestured towards a now silent Grissom.

"I'm a homicide captain, Mr Delquisk. We have to investigate all the possibilities before we can draw up a conclusion," Brass explained.

The angered man nodded, the normal colour resuming in his cheeks as he calmed down a little "Homicide…you think…you think Anna was…was…murdered?"

Grissom took this as his chance to speak, "Like I said, Mr Delquisk, I don't have all the evidence yet. But once my team are done upstairs and the coroner has done a full autopsy, we'll know exactly what happened to your daughter."

Robert Delquisk shook his head "No…no an autopsy won't be necessary."

"We have to determine a cause of death," Grissom appealed.

But the father was not at all interested, "She killed herself! I_ saw_ her hanging there. How can you tell me that you need to…to cut her open to see the blindingly obvious?"

"The only obvious thing is your guilt," Brass muttered.

"You still think I killed her?" Delquisk asked, now pacing the room nervously "For God's sake, I've told you everything. Don't you believe me?"

Giving him a dull glance, Grissom recited one of his favourite sayings, "I believe the evidence."

* * *

The DNA lab was a safe place to work. One always knew what was required of them when presented with a job or a challenge. Out in the field really defined 'challenge' for Greg Sanders, not that he could deny the importance of his job to himself. The good-humoured approach he took to most things did not mean he enjoyed the serious implications of his line of work any less than the other two investigators in the room with him. Sure, Greg had never been described as somewhat 'work obsessed' as Sara Sidle had been. Nor was he known for being a puzzle solver in the way Catherine Willows so much adored recognition for. But he was perfectly capable of succeeding in his job. This particular crime scene was no different except for the fact that he wasn't too sure what he was supposed to be looking for. It was routine for CSI to search a crime scene and collect anything considered evidence, but Greg was not entirely sure what to consider evidence in this instance. He had been so busy trying to impress the boss and get straight on with his work- even finding something of interest during his search- that he had barely heard Grissom and Sara's conversation about the evidence not supporting a suicide. So was he here to look for evidence of murder? Catherine seemed to know what she was doing as he watched her move around the room taking photographs of anything of possible significance or characteristic values of Anna Delquisk that may have been a factor in her probable murder. At the other side of the room, Sara was fiercely concentrating on her task of dusting for prints on the desk stool while the assistance coroner, David Phillips checked over the body. No-one noticed Greg's slow work rate as he lifted back the bed sheets and used the RUVIS tool to enable him to see semen stains on the sheet. Seeing nothing, he lifted the sheet up and searched the mattress- still nothing. He switched the reflective ultraviolet imaging system off and let out a sigh.

Catherine looked up at him from where she had been photographing something in one of the drawers at the other side of the bed, "You might want to take a look at this, Greg."

He walked to where she had left one drawer open and gazed inside. "Condoms," he said aloud, lifting the box from its place of storage and examining it carefully "only a few left…indicates lots of sex, but not in _her _bed- no semen."

Catherine nodded, "I guess we should find out if Anna had a boyfriend."

"And if he works in the motor trade," Sara said as she lifted the hand print from the stool. "Some sort of oil on this print. I'm thinking cars."

"You know, I noticed a pretty nice Lexus parked outside," Greg informed the two women "Daddy Delquisk could have made that print."

Sara shrugged, "I guess that's what Grissom's gone to find out."


	3. Chapter 3

At about the same time Robert Delquisk discovered Anna's body, Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes were arriving at their crime scene. The neighbour of an aspiring young showgirl had reported a disturbance at her apartment two nights ago. The girl, nineteen-year-old Casey Wren had not been seen since.

"This is one of those cases," Nick said as he and Warrick climbed the staircase that lead to the third floor where her apartment was "where you really don't want to find a body, but at the same time you kinda do 'cause at least then it's over, you know?"

Warrick nodded in agreement, "I know, man."

They reached the apartment, both looking at the other to go first. When neither man attempted, Nick made a fist to indicate a game of _Rock, Paper, Scissors_… and won paper to rock. His partner cursed under his breath and then boldly forced his weight against the door. It teased open just enough for both men to slip inside without destroying potential evidence. Surveying the room carefully, Nick set down his kit and pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Warrick took his flashlight and, leaving Nick to search the TV room at the entrance, walked into the next room. He found himself in the shell of a kitchen. Apart from two counters that had probably once been home to a sink, two steel chairs and a folding table pushed against the wall, the room was empty. His eyes scanned the floor and the surrounding wall, noticing scuff marks on the blue wallpaper that were consistent with someone removing all the appliances and other furniture from the room. But even if there was evidence to back that theory up, it made no sense in itself. Why the hell would anyone want to remove pretty much everything from a kitchen unless a new one was being fitted? More importantly, _how _would they do it?

"Hey Nicky!" he called to the other CSI who was still in the TV room "Come take a look at this!"

The man soon appeared in the door frame behind him, "Whoa! New kitchen you think?"

Warrick wasn't so sure "Casey hasn't been seen in, what, two days? If this was done while she was still here, how was she cooking her food?"

Nick wore an impish grin as though he knew the winning question in a game of trivial pursuit…against Grissom. "Well, showgirls work all night. She probably just got a takeout when she got home."

"Maybe," Warrick agreed, crouching down to take a better look at the scuff marks on the walls, "or maybe she didn't _get _home."

He shone his flashlight on the marks while Nick remained leaning in the door frame, "How'd you know so much about showgirls anyway?" Warrick asking half-jokingly.

Nick laughed a little, "Comes with the job."

For the next thirty minutes or so, the CSIs processed the scene looking for any evidence of murder, abduction, or just some explanation as to what had happened to Casey Wren. Warrick examined the sink counter and confirmed that the sink had indeed been removed, leaving a gaping hole in the counter where the water pipers were visible. Nick couldn't find any evidence of a disturbance in the TV room. Everything in there seemed like the owner was going to come back to it. Or just up sticks and leave it all behind. Entering the bedroom next, Nick found a wastepaper bin with a bloody tissue in it. Although it looked to him as just the after-math of a nose bleed, he bagged it anyway and continued his search. On the leaf green carpet, he notice what looked like a key-card that had dropped or fallen off something. He stared at it suspiciously, eventually deciding to bag it as evidence because if it was Casey's, it meant she wasn't coming back.

A few minutes passed before he was joined by Warrick who had just checked out the bathroom, "Hey, she's left all her toiletries in the bathroom, not even taken her toothbrush. I'm thinking this is something more sinister than her just getting bored and starting a new life."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Nick insisted, gesturing in the general direction of the pine armoire "take a look at the closet, hardly anything in there."

Warrick gave a defeated shrug and stepped further into the room, "That a key-card?" he asked, referring to the evidence bag Nick was still holding.

"Yeah, could give us something if it's Casey's," Nick replied ambiguously.

"Those things are pretty standard issue, could belong to anyone from this apartment block."

Nick nodded and engrossed himself in shining a flashlight under the bed.

Walking towards the nightstand and picking up a photograph of two people, Warrick sighed, "You think that's Casey? Shame…pretty girl."

Nick stood up and turned around to take a look for himself, "Well the neighbour described her as being blonde and blue-eyed, so chances are it's her. Maybe she's with whoever that guy is in the picture."

"What I love about this job," Warrick said, returning the photograph to its original place, "is that the evidence will always tell us what really happened."

"Yeah," Nick nodded "that is, when there's evidence to find."

Confident they had everything they needed, both men left and carted their equipment and collected evidence back into one of the lab's SUVs they had parked outside. Behind the wheel on their way back to the lab, Nick said, "So, what d'ya think happened to her?"

Warrick shrugged, "Gris says we shouldn't think up theories before we have all the evidence I guess."

"Yeah," the man beside him agreed "but you must have some ideas."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, "Well, I think something's up with that kitchen, man. Nobody leaves their kitchen like that!"

"Could be like I said: she hasn't got a new one fitted yet and was living off takeouts."

"So where do you think she is?"

"Probably just took off somewhere. Got bored of being a showgirl or something."

"Nah, man," Warrick dismissed Nick's theory "without taking her stuff?"

"Maybe she took the kitchen with her?" Nick suggested, the impish grin returning to his face.

"I got a feeling we won't find her alive. I mean, surely she would have contacted _someone_ to let them know where she was going."

Nick shrugged, "Maybe she didn't really think about it, just left on the spur of the moment."

"Yeah, well I guess we'll soon find out when they pull her body outta Lake Mead or somethin'."

"You wanna bet on it?" Nick said.

They were pulling up into the lab car park now and Warrick didn't need much persuading, "Sure, ten bucks?"

Nick stuck his hand out for him to shake "You got a deal."


	4. Chapter 4

It was after 2 am when the black SUV driven by Catherine pulled into the parking lot outside LVPD forensics lab. All four CSIs plucked their own kit from the boot of the Tahoe and headed inside, each assessing themselves a job to complete. The building was a mass of blue-glass corridors running off the central DNA lab. Someone who didn't know their way could easily get lost. But Sara Sidle knew exactly where she was heading with the handprint she had collected from the stool.

Grissom's attempt at getting Robert Delquisk to share his prints had proved pointless- the man knew his rights and insisted on a warrant before any such action was to take place. This meant the team would most probably have a wait on theirs hands if they still considered Delquisk a suspect in a few hours.

Brass and Sofia had agreed to find out as much as they could about Anna Delquisk. This included a Police search of the computer retrieved from her room and taken into evidence. A character profile of a dead girl was always useful had it indeed been a murder. In the morning, or rather, in a few hours the work of the two detectives would come in great use for Gil Grissom and his team as suspects arised and search warrants were needed.

Luckily, the body of evidence certainly was going to be a body due to the policy of suspicious deaths automatically requiring a full autopsy regardless of parental wishes. As assistant coroner, David had been Delquisk's assurance that this was one of those cases.

The father had been incredibly uncooperative after that and insisted that he was to be left to grieve in peace. He didn't want Police searches and autopsies being mentioned when the local press got in on the story. Wasn't it enough that Anna was dead? The last thing he needed was countless reports of her murder making a bad name for him. What were people going to think? He ran a successful casino, the last thing he needed was bad publicity. Those were his reasons, the things he had not told the Police. He was a proud man, liked to keep everything neat and simple. Alone now, he crossed the room to where his secret vault was hidden. He usually kept money in there but tonight it held something much heavier. As the key clicked into place and the door swung open, his eyes fixed on the brown paper packaging. Carefully, he reached in and lifted the object from the vault. This was his only protection now: the .38 pistol revolver. Because what he hadn't told the Police was of Anna's fear...and now his own as he realised that her killer could come back.

* * *

While coroner Dr. Al Robbins completed the task of finding out how Anna died, Grissom and his team went over everything else they had.

Sara took the handprint to Mandy in the fingerprint lab to scan through AFIS. She waited patiently and hopefully for the results but this was one of the times when the Automated Fingerprint Identification System came to nothing.

Grissom was working on getting the photographs from his camera memory card when Sara entered the room, fresh from getting her handprint results.

"Hey," she said, moving to stand beside him but not sitting down.

He gave her silent acknowledgement, eagerly concentrating on his task.

"No match on those prints," she told him.

He didn't react at all, but then, he usually didn't. With Grissom it was as if he always knew the answer before an instrumental technique confirmed it.

"Where are Catherine and Greg?" she asked after hovering around awkwardly for a few more seconds.

The computer made a printing sound and, getting up to collect the printed crime scene pictures, Grissom gave her a quick sideways glance, "In one of the spare evidence rooms…dusting for prints on a box of condoms I believe."

She smirked at how matter-of-factly he had said it before eyeing the pile of photos in his hand, "Want me to help you go over those?"

Gil was, of course, perfectly capable of the task himself but Sara's help would probably mean the job would be done much faster. It was always good to have time on your side where evidence was concerned.

With a soft, almost boyish smile, Grissom accepted her offer and the two criminalists made their way to the layout room.

Elsewhere Catherine Willows, together with the help of barely-past-rookie-stage Greg Sanders, was busy trying to lift fingerprints from the box of condoms she had discovered in Anna Delquisk's chest of drawers. The box seemed porous enough to dust dactyl black powder over it with a fine-fibered brush, hopefully revealing the latent prints left there by the sweat and sebum on the skin of whoever last touched the box. Although it was likely that person was Anna Delquisk, Catherine was hoping there would also be some trace of a second party. After all, finding Anna's boyfriend could lead to finding her killer (assuming there was one)

"Got a couple of clear prints here," Catherine told Greg as she swept the brush lightly over the box and dusted off the excess powder. "Pass me the tape would you?"

Greg did so, watching intently as Catherine placed it over the prints to lift them for ease of comparison.

"You never seen a fingerprint before, Greg?" Catherine joked at how closely he was watching her.

"No…well, yes…it's just…uh…I've never seen anyone fingerprint a box of rubbers before," he excused himself.

The blonde raised her eyebrows at him, "Stranger things have happened."

Back in the layout room, Grissom and Sara were laying out the crime scene photos that both Grissom himself and his second-in-command, Catherine, had taken.

"I very much hope you didn't miss anything," Grissom said absent-mindedly. He had become very engaged in arranging the photos to perfection.

"Don't you trust us?" Sara asked, a smile forming across her mouth.

Satisfied that he had all he pictures how he wanted them, he turned to face her, "Of course…I just don't think Robert Delquisk will want us back there should we have missed anything."

"Well if we get a warrant he won't have much choice," she pointed out.

Grissom didn't bother to reply and Sara began to wonder if he'd even heard her and if she should say it again.

Opening her mouth to speak, she noticed Greg and Catherine walking into the room and quickly changed her mind.

"On my way to see Mandy," Catherine explained, "I thought I'd come and see how you were doing."

Sara smiled thinly on account of she didn't exactly _know _how they were doing. She loved being involved with her work but knew better than to interfere with Grissom's perfectionist-like mannerisms. Luckily, she was saved by the man himself when he spun around to face the other two CSIs in the room.

"I need to see the Doc," he said in the calm, nonchalant tone to which his speech often took.

He promptly left the layout room, causing the three members of his team to share bewildered looks. It was obvious he had no intention of an explanation just yet.


	5. Chapter 5

While the rest of nightshift CSI were still at the Delquisk mansion, Warrick and Nick arrived back at the lab. Nick claimed evidence analysis, leaving Warrick to round up a young cop and find out what he could about Casey Wren. Database search drew a blank, revealing nothing but her housing tenancy which only showed that the apartment they had just searched was under her name only. No boyfriend according to her neighbour, a Mr. Leo Ilex who had reported her missing. The only other piece of information Warrick had managed to get on the missing girl was her workplace: one of the seedy, back-alley joints leading off the strip. Making a mental note to send an officer down there later, he continued his search.

Warrick's search aid, a rookie cop named Nelson Tanner, had managed to pull some information on her background. _Casey Louise Wren, D.O.B: 1.13.1986, only child of Melissa and Angus Wren of 77 Belleview Avenue._

"Hold on a sec…" Warrick said as he eyes scanned the file, "1986…that would make her…21 now?"

"Never much good at maths," Tanner mumbled "Why, that a problem?"

"Sure is." The criminalist replied. "Her tenancy states that she's 19, and that's what her neighbour told the Police when he called it in."

Tanner shrugged casually, "Maybe she was lying to secure her job- she's a showgirl, right? The younger the better."

Warrick didn't dismiss the cop's theory. Sure, it made sense that she had wanted to stay youthful in her job. But 21 wasn't exactly old, why pretend to be 19? Of course, it could always be a mistake on the tenancy but Leo Ilex seemed to think she was 19 too. Something strange was going on and Warrick immediately made a note of Melissa and Angus Wren's home address. Someone would have to speak to them, especially if their daughter was missing. Though he presumed such inquires had already been made before CSI were contacted. It was not often that they had the monopoly on missing person's cases.

"You know who's handling this case?" Warrick asked Tanner, referring to the detective in charge.

The young cop shook his head- he didn't know, hadn't needed to.

Checking his watch, Warrick stood up. It was 1:40 AM. He wondered how Nick was doing.

"You chase up that detective." He said imperatively "Find out what the deal is with her parents."

The man nodded and gave a mock salute with the index and middle finger of his left hand.

Nick had been working for an hour solid on the only substantial pieces of evidence he and Warrick had collected from the scene. The key-card held nothing more than a few smudges which, according to AFIS, were barely enough for a comparison. The system had pin-pointed over 200 possible matches. After narrowing down the search it had still come up with 74, none of which Nick had taken immediate interest in. Chances were the prints were Casey's and until she showed up, dead or alive as was the subject of the bet, he was not going to be able to prove that. At least with the blood that was extracted from the tissue he'd found and now had waiting in line for a DNA analysis could be compared to the DNA from the toothbrush Warrick had collected.

"Hey, how's it going?" the smooth, 'Vegas-native' voice of Warrick Brown asked.

Nick looked up to see his partner in criminalistics, and opponent in the bet of both the same case leaning his almost gangly frame against the doorway of the evidence room in which he stood.

"Hey," he greeted him, "just finishing up here."

Warrick watched him as he cleared away the fingerprint dust and brush he had been using.  
"Well I was going to offer a hand, but if you're done I've got a better idea."

Nick laughed a little, "Oh yeah, what's that?"

"Meet me out front in…say…5 minutes? Nicky my boy, we are heading down to _Star Girls_."

* * *

The temperature had dropped a little when Nick walked outside to the lab's parking lot. It couldn't have been described as cold but certainly below average and he was glad when Warrick more or less followed him out.

The pair walked silently to the same black Tahoe they had used as transport to Casey Wren's apartment. This time, Warrick positioned himself in the driver's seat with Nick as the passenger.

"It's nearly 2 AM," Nick pointed out on the drive to _Star Girls_. "You think we'll catch the manager?"

Warrick grinned, "You ever been in a cheap showgirl place?"

Pause. "Maybe…obviously _you _have."

"On the job," he excused "Most of them stay open real later…or early, depends how you look at it."

"On nightshift 2 AM is pretty early," Nick said, the form of a smile taking shape of his square-jawed face.

It didn't take them too long to reach a late night parking lot just off the strip. Both men got out of the SUV and prepared themselves for the inquiries they were about to make. Warrick lead the way, navigating past sleazy bars and strip joints until the reached a neon sign that read _Star Girls. _A cheap neon structure of the female form mid-slide down a pole hung to the left of the sign. Warrick and Nick exchanged glances. _Were they really going to get any help in their investigation from a manger of a place so tacky?_

The security appeared to be nothing more than a well-built teenager holding a plastic box which contained several loose coins and a couple of notes.

"5 bucks each," he said in a voice that had barely hit puberty.

Nick smirked and flashed his I.D card. "Nick Stokes. This is Warrick Brown. Crime scene investigators."

The boy stared at them with a gormless expression. "Uh…you want me to fetch Tony?"

"The manager? He got an office or someplace privet we can talk?" Warrick asked.

"Sure…through here and to the right but I don't think-"

"Thanks, kid." Warrick cut him off and, followed by Nick, headed through the double doors into the club.

The décor made a vain attempt to counteract the tacky impression both investigators had felt at first sight. Though the lighting was dim, they were able to clearly see the varnished wooden bar that ran along the left wall and a small number of matching varnished wood tables and booth seating, most occupied by half-dressed girls indulging in their profession. Nick glanced at the row of doors to their right, wondering if in one of them was where they'd find Tony.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a smartly dressed, tall brunette appeared and greeted them with a welcoming smile. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

Warrick nodded, "We're looking for the manager?"

The woman looked alarmed at this statement. "What's this about?"

This time was Warrick's turn to flash the I.D, "Crime scene investigators, miss," he replied, careful not to reveal any information on the subject of their arrival just yet.

The brunette folded her arms across her chest. "In that case you're looking at her."

Neither man expecting that, the two fell silent.

"Well?" the now presumed 'Tony' demanded impatiently.

"Um…you got an office we can go to?" Warrick finally asked.

"Follow me."

All three stopped outside a cherry-wood door while Tony produced a little silver key that hung like a necklace around her neck and unlocked the door. She was obviously a private woman, maybe even secretive or sneaky.

The cramped room was home to nothing but a cheap desk and filing system with a tiny monitor, probably for observation of what was happening in the main room, mounted in the far corner.

"I'd offer you a seat but…" she gestured the lack of space in front of the desk as she herself sat down on the opposite side. _Very business-like. _"So…what exactly is this all about?"

"You know Casey Wren?" Nick asked.

"Yes, she's…she works here. She didn't show up for work tonight. Has something happened?"

Warrick took his turn to speak. "That's what we're trying to find out, Miss…"

"Travis," she filled in, "Antonya Travis. But most people call me Tony," she rummaged through one of her desk drawers, eventually producing a pack of cigarettes, then added sharply as they watched her spark up, "That's Tony with a y by the way."

Nick offered a wooden smile at her. "What can you tell me about Casey?"

Taking a long drag from her cigarette, Tony shrugged. "I don't know my girls on a professional basis. They dance, keep the patrons happy, earn the dough. Everything else is nothing to do with me."

"Does Casey have a dressing room?" Warrick asked.

Tony stubbed out her barely-smoked cigarette in her glass ash tray at this and leaned eagerly forward. "There's only the shared one round the back. And before you ask, you'll need a warrant for any kind of search action on these premises."

_Damn_. "What about the other girls? Casey friendly with any of them?" he persisted the investigation.

Tony shrugged again, "You'll need to ask them that. Like I said, me and my girls- never personal."

Nick smirked a little. This woman could have been a dominatrix if she ever stepped up further than her sleazy club. "So you don't mind us questioning the girls?"

She smiled in false apology, "Looks like shift's over, boys." she answered breezily. "Come back tomorrow…and bring that warrant."

"Yeah," Warrick answered, "We will do, Miss Travis."

* * *

Wrote this quickly because I was watching CSI actually (will fix any errors ASAP)


	6. Chapter 6

Dressed in blue scrubs over his own clothes, Grissom entered the morgue where he found the department's coroner Dr. Al Robbins.

"Hoping you could tell me something I didn't know about my DB."

The man, though he walked with a crutch, moved with a certain agility that impressed Grissom in many cases. That day was no exception. He led the CSI supervisor to a slab on which the corpse of Anna Delquisk lay.

"Let's start with cause of death," Robbins began "asphyxia any surprise to you?"

"Not from hanging I presume?" Grissom checked.

The older man shook his head. He always wondered how Gil knew these things before he did.

"I'd say it was more like strangulation. Manual- not from hanging. Compressed trachea indicates that someone pressed down onto her throat until she couldn't breathe. And take a look at this," he pulled the white sheet down a little. "Finger marks on the left side of the neck- left handed killer maybe?"

"What do you make of the impression on her jugular?"

"Ligature marks from when she was tied up to stage a hanging?"

"Unlikely. That was a satin tie; the marks are rough, irregular."

"Can't help you then."

Grissom struggled to hide his disappointment. "What about toxicology or sexual assault?"

"Sent a sample of her stomach contents to tox- I'll let you know the results. Sexual assault I'd say negative. Traces of seminal fluids but no vaginal tearing, which only indicates consenting sex."

_Well that ruled out rape as a motive. _

Unable to think of anything else that could be of use to the investigation, Grissom thanked the Doc and headed back to the lab where three members of his team were waiting for him.

He found said members of team in the break room, apparently unsure of what to do with themselves, and walked in sitting in the empty seat next to Catherine.

"Robbins find anything interesting?" She asked in a breezy tone of voice that almost irritated Grissom.

"Well, we're definitely looking at a homicide."

From where she sat opposite him, Sara slid a computer print-out across the table. "If you're looking for suspects," she said when he met her gaze.

"Match on the fingerprints Greggo here and I collected," Catherine explained "Rory Tamblyn, busted for dealing cannabis 3 years ago."

"Since I found that bag under Anna's bed, it's likely he's involved." Greg commented.

Grissom wasn't so sure, "Never assume things, Greg."

"Well, he's all we got right now," Sara defended him. "I say we call Brass."

Eyes lingering on Sara for a moment as if considering her words, Grissom glanced at the clock. "Shift will be over in an hour. I say we leave this for now."

Catherine looked shocked; it was most defiantly not like Grissom to deny overtime. "And let dayshift get their hands on this? Come on, those guys are still pretty sloppy even without Ecklie as a supervisor."

Grissom knew she had a point and held his hands up to indicate surrender. "Okay, I'll call Brass. Happy?"

Catherine Willows was well into her second shift when she and Captain Jim Brass pulled up outside Rory Tamblyn's listed address. Although she had volunteered for the job, she was hoping it wouldn't take long so she could get back to her daughter. Lindsey was a teenager now- supposedly 'old enough to look after herself' and she appreciated the girl's want for freedom. But that didn't stop her concerns, especially since Catherine had had the permanently on-call job of forensic scientist throughout pretty much all of Lindsey's childhood.

Both the detective and the criminalist knew they were at the right place the minute they reached the front door. The small garden at the front looked as though no-one remotely interested in gardening had ever been near it and the remains of the lawn and little rockery were over-grown with weeds. The house itself did nothing to convince Catherine the occupant was anything other than lazy. The shabby paint-work on the door was mostly peeled off and the rotting bricks were infested with moss. She had no protective clothing with her and the woman found herself shuddering at the prospect of entering the house.

A skinny well-dressed man answered the door and stood in almost perfect contrast to the run-down house.

"Rory Tamblyn?" Brass asked

The man frowned, gave a half nod and said, "Yeah. Who are-"

Brass holding his Police badge out seemed to pause Rory mid-sentence- enough for the introductions.

"I'm Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police. This is Catherine Willows from the crime lab. Mind if we ask you a few questions?"

Catherine never understood the nature of that question. Who would _not _mind been questioned? Yet, it usually came to good results so she was not about to fault it.

The lack of furniture in the room Tamblyn led them to spoke volumes for Catherine. It meant he probably wasn't in there a lot (and by the looks of it he was on his way out when they caught him) and it also meant if there was a woman in his life, she did not live with him. So could that 'woman' in fact be a 15-year-old girl?

"You know Anna Delquisk?" Brass asked, getting straight to the point.

The man swallowed. Chewed on his bottom lip a little.

"You know her?" the Captain repeated after no response.

Eventually Tamblyn met his gaze. "Sure. I do some work for her old man sometimes."

"Really? What sort of work?"

"Handy-man jobs around the house. Fixing things up."

"You ever fix cars?" Catherine asked, remembering the oil on the handprint.

"Once or twice. Why?"

"Have you worked on a car recently?" she asked, ignoring his suspicion.

Tamblyn looked thoughtful for a moment. "Couple o' weeks ago maybe. What's this about?"

"Anna's dead," Brass informed him bluntly "and we have reason to believe that you were having a sexual relationship with her."

His face covered with his hands, Tamblyn muttered something that sounded like, "Oh God."

A few moments later he took to the only chair in the room. "She wasn't just a kid. She was real special." He stared with alertness at the representatives of the LVPD. "You're not going to tell Mr. Delquisk are you?"

"That depends on if I can take your handprints?" Catherine smiled.

The man looked up at her. "Whoa…you think…you think _I _killed Anna?"

Catherine didn't say anything.

"Don't you need a warrant for that anyway?" he asked arrogantly.

"Yeah and I'm about to make damn sure we get one!" Brass announced from where he had been snooping a little at the back of the room. "Weed stash."

Catherine gave a triumphant smile. If a man was stupid enough to have drugs in a room where he had led Police, could he possibly get away with murder?


	7. Chapter 7

"Remind me again why we're pulling double shift today." Nick said as he took a sip from the coffee cup in front of him. He was already on his second cup and the empty remained in front of him.

It was 7:30 AM, a time considered acceptable to 'go visiting', so to speak, on a non-urgent case. Because nightshift ended at 8 AM, this sometimes meant putting in the overtime. Unfortunately for Nick and Warrick, their case was classified 'non-urgent'.

"So that I can beat your ass a little faster," Warrick smirked.

The two men were sitting in the break room enjoying the ten minutes they had to substitute sleep before they took a trip to the home of Melissa and Angus Wren.

It seemed that poor Police work had prevented their interview ever having taken place and now that job was left to CSI. The case had been passed around a lot since the official missing persons report made by Leo Ilex and the detective in charge had made assumptions that inquiries into her family life had already been made and that's why CSI were being called in to do an apartment search. The guy had only recently gained his detective status, Warrick realised, and he could probably cut him a bit of slack. After all, he and Nick were on to something and neither man liked a cold case.

Warrick stood and dumped his cup in the sink. The caffeine wasn't having much of an effect on him so far but he knew he could last out the length of the interview for the bet he had going with Nick if not for the case itself.

"Come on, coffee boy," he beckoned to his colleague "before this shift makes triple."

"How's that warrant coming along for _Star Girls _anyway?" Nick asked as he drank the last of his cup and cleared both away.

"Just spoke with the detective. Providing we get the go-ahead from the judge, we should be paying Tony Travis a visit this evening."

"That is- unless we get some major lead from the parents."

"Wishful thinking Nicky," Warrick grinned, playfully slapping him on the back "unless they lead us right to her body."

Neither scenario seemed likely but both men knew that part of the job was the finding out. And like Grissom always told them, they needed data before they could do that.

Break over, the pair headed back to the lab's SUV they had parked outside. The cars of the dayshift crew were beginning to roll in and Nick gave a quick wave at one of them he recognised before getting into the drivers seat. It was his turn to drive.

"77 Belleview Avenue," Warrick reminded him as they pulled out of the parking lot.

The house they arrived at about 20 minutes later was average-sized and average-looking. Grey stone walls, neat square windows, freshly painted blue door. This was an upright, stable home, as decided by Nick Stokes, nothing out of place except for the daughter…

A wispy, thin woman answered the door when Warrick knocked. Her hair was coloured blonde, though dark roots showed through, and she wore a long black cotton dress.

Through the slightly open door, Warrick watched as a man, bookish in appearance and dressed in tan chinos and a blue flannel shirt came out of another room and stood with caution in the hallway. He had thinning brown hair and his eyes looked dull and grey from behind the round-rimmed reading glasses he wore.

The woman cleared her throat and gave them a hazel-eyed stare. "Yes?"

Warrick recited the introduction, "Warrick Brown. This is Nick Stokes. We're from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Her slender body seemed to stiffen at this and her voice reduced to a whisper, "What do you want?"

"Are you Melissa Wren?"

She tensed a little more. "Yes…"

Her husband came to her defence with a slight snap to his voice, "Look, my wife isn't feeling too well at the moment. Perhaps I could be of assistance?"

Nick glanced at Warrick, "Could we come in, Mr Wren?"

The man seemed to consider this for a moment before turning to his wife. "You go on upstairs dear. I can handle this." He turned back to face the two investigators and pulled the door open a little more, allowing their entrance.

They followed Angus Wren through into the honey-coloured kitchen and each took a seat at the breakfast island opposite him.

"I wanted my wife out of the way," the man sighed "This is about Casey isn't it?"

Warrick nodded, "We were called to her apartment last night. She hasn't been seen in a few days, do you have any idea where she could be?"

Angus' face suddenly dropped. "Where she might…? I thought this was about her…profession. Are you saying Casey's _missing_?"

Ultimately, Warrick knew that was what he was saying. But how do you tell a father that?

Nick tried to be as helpful as possible. "Do you have a recent photograph of your daughter?"

He nodded, rose from his seat, and crossed back into the hallway, returning a few moments later clutching a silver photo frame. "Taken a few years ago now," he said, handing it to Nick. "I think she was about 18."

Just as Warrick was about to question her age, Nick passed the photo to him with an 'I-just-cracked-the-case' smile.

It took him only glance to realise that the girl smiling from behind the encased glass of the frame was not the same girl they had seen pictures of in her apartment. This girl was, in fact, someone they had already met not so long ago.

"I think we're going to be paying a visit to Tony Travis a lot sooner than she thinks." Warrick smirked, handing the photograph back to a confused Angus Wren.

"I don't understand…"

"We think Casey could be using another identity, Mr Wren." Nick explained tactfully.

"But you said Casey was missing."

Warrick asked, "Do you know anyone called Antonya Travis?"

Angus pondered this for a moment before shaking his head. "I've never heard that name before. Is that the name Casey's going by now?"

Unsure of how to answer the question, Nick said, "The girl in the photo came up in our investigation, yes. We spoke with her a few hours ago."

The father was lost, blank, beyond confusion. "But…that means…"

"It means that the missing person in this case is not your daughter," Warrick finished his sentence for him.

Nick was next to speak, "Then we're still looking for a missing person."


	8. Chapter 8

Back at the Police HQ Captain Jim Brass, joined by Catherine Willows, entered one of the glass interrogation rooms where they found their suspect and his attorney.

Rory Tamblyn looked up at the pair before quickly looking away.

Seated opposite him, Catherine placed a crime-scene photo of the bag of cannabis Greg had found under Anna's bed on the table in front of him. "This was found in Anna Delquisk's room," she said. "Can you explain that?"

His public defence lawyer, a green-eyed brunette in her mid-thirties, spoke with a vague Chicago accent, "My client does not wish-"

But Tamblyn surprised Catherine by cutting her off and answering the question, "I gave her it a while back. She just wanted to try it. I didn't think…I didn't think she'd end up dead."

"They never do." Brass mumbled, looking to Catherine to present some more evidence.

The female took out the photo of the handprint on the desk stool next. "Know anything about this?"

"I really do not see the relevance." The lawyer said quickly. "My client is here on a drug charge."

Catherine and Brass shared a look. They knew that until they got a warrant, there was no way they could get Tamblyn to talk. Or rather, let his hands do the talking.

Before they were able to proceed with the questioning, a knock on the door interrupted them.

Brass frowned slightly and stood up to see who was there. At the other side of the door, Sara Sidle insisted on seeing Catherine. "It's relevant to the case," she said when she saw the captain's annoyance at her intrusion.

Catherine went outside to talk with Sara, intrigued at the 'urgent news' she promised.

"Just got the results back from trace," Sara said breathlessly. "The oil on the handprint wasn't from a car. It contained oxalic acid."

"Like in anti-rust?"

"Exactly. Specifically found in gun oil lubricant."

"So…whoever touched the stool has handled a gun recently?"

Sara nodded, "Yep."

Catherine glanced back into the glass room. "Then I don't know if we've got the right guy."

The questioning resumed when Catherine returned. The news of the gun oil swayed the questions she had planned on asking a little.

"Mr Tamblyn, do you own a gun?" Brass asked first of all once he had heard the new evidence.

The kid shrugged and shook his head.

"Do you…know anyone that does? Mr Delquisk maybe?" Catherine asked.

The public defence lawyer looked fuming. "Your murder investigation has no connection with my client."

Ignoring her, Catherine looked at Tamblyn, trying to read his body language. "Rory?" she prompted when he didn't answer.

He looked her right in the eye. "I don't know. I never saw one when I was there."

"You don't have to answer their questions." The lawyer insisted.

The man nodded, "I'm here on a drugs charge, okay? So charge me. I know nothing about Anna's death but you might want to talk with Ruby."

"Ruby?" Brass asked.

Tamblyn nodded again. "Yeah Ruby Cartwright, she's Anna's best friend supposedly. You want the scoop on Anna? Talk to Ruby."

"My client has nothing more to say." Miss-public-defence said as though she was trying to prove a point.

Catherine smiled falsely at her. "That's okay. I think we've got all we need."

* * *

A little while later, detective Sofia Curtis met with Ruby Cartwright. The teenager had agreed to come down to the station to talk and was waiting when Sofia entered the room.

Her white-blonde hair was braided in two long plaits showing off her black highlights. Although she, like Anna, was only fifteen, she wore a super low cut burgundy top and a short black skirt. Some sort of gold medallion hung heavy around her neck and on her feet were a pair of knee-high candy-apple-red PVC boots.

"Ruby Cartwright?" Sofia said first of all as she sat down opposite the girl.

"Ruby _Elizabeth _Cartwright," she corrected.

"Okay…so Ruby, what can you tell me about Anna Delquisk?"

The teenager shrugged nonchalantly. "She was cool. Real spoilt though, and a bit of a daddy's girl, you know?"

"No, I don't. What do you mean by that?"

Ruby leaned forward with her elbows on the table. "I _mean _he was real protective of Anna. They argued about it a lot but he just flashed the cash to win her over."

"So you're saying Robert Delquisk bribed his daughter?"

"Yeah that's what I'm saying."

"These arguments…how far did they go? Were they ever violent?"

"No he…he pushed her around a bit sometimes. But it's nothing bad, he's never hurt her."

"Anna told you this?"

Ruby nodded, "She talked about it a lot."

Sofia was beginning to suspect Robert Delquisk even more. "Did she mention anything about this yesterday?"

"I didn't see her yesterday."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"This is starting to sound like I'm a suspect."

"Are you?"

"No! Anna was my best friend!"

"And Robert Delquisk was her father."

Ruby stared up at her defiantly. "Look, I'm just telling you what I know. Can I go now?"

Sofia knew she couldn't keep her there. "Sure," she waited until Ruby had reached the door before stopping her, "but Ruby?"

The girl didn't turn around but stopped to indicate she was listening.

"If you remember anything else, just call. Ask for detective Curtis."

* * *

"So what do we do now?" Catherine asked as she took a sip from her coffee cup and stared at the other three blank faces of her colleagues in the break room with her.

Nightshift had just started and Catherine was annoyed that it had taken this long to get to where they were and still with no results.

"We wait," Grissom was first to speak, "evidence has no time limits, Catherine."

"We _wait? _Gil, that girl's killer is out there somewhere and you're expecting me to wait?"

Sara sighed and tried to resolve the situation, not realising how unhelpful she was really being. "Is this because you're a mother, Catherine? I know it's hard to separate emotions but-"

Catherine was clearly outraged. "Separate emotions? Oh, you'd know all about that would you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" the brunette snapped back.

"Every time we get a case of abuse on women, you get all emotional."

"Whoa! Ladies, calm down!" Greg offered, receiving nothing but angry glares from both women.

Brass entered the room at that moment, immediately picking up on the icy atmosphere and staying very close to where Grissom was stood by the door. "Got you that warrant for Delquisk." He handed it to Grissom and backed out of the room.

"Catherine, you can come with me to Delquisk mansion." Grissom ordered. "Sara, run with what you got from trace. See what Bobby knows about gun oil."

"What do I do?" Greg asked.

"Find out what you can about the mark around Anna's neck. Speak to Doc Robbins if you need to."

"Yes sir." Greg said as he left the room.

Sara gave Grissom one last sulky look before she too left the room and Grissom and Catherine headed out to the parking lot.

Both criminalists were stood on Robert Delquisk's porch when Catherine knocked on his door. Only moments later, when Delquisk answered the door, did she realise that Grissom had disappeared.

_Good thing I've got the warrant _she though, producing it instantaneously.

"Catherine Willows, sir. Crime scene investigator." She identified herself, and then held out the warrant.

He took it suspiciously from her. "Don't I know you?"

She shrugged, "I was here yesterday."

"No…no…it's not…" he paused, snapping his fingers at her and looking as though a light bulb had gone off in his head. "Catherine you say your name is? You used to dance, didn't you?"

She smiled at his recognition of her. "That's right. French Palace."

He nodded, "Yeah I remember you."

The conversation had gone off topic a little and Catherine did her best to remain professional. "The warrant, sir." She reminded him.

He was still skim-reading it when Grissom returned.

"You have a security camera round the back." He stated.

Delquisk stared at him. "I do."

"Could we possibly…take the tapes?"

He frowned. "What for? Anna's murder is nothing to do with that."

"It could help."

He sighed, looked over the warrant again and finally met Catherine's, and only Catherine's eyes. He made no attempt to look in Grissom's direction. "And you want my handprints too?"

Catherine nodded apologetically, despite what everyone else seemed to think, she generally did not believe that this was a man capable of killing his own daughter.

With a grumble, he tugged the door open and stepped back so that Grissom and Catherine could enter. Both followed him in the sitting room where Catherine removed the necessary objects from her kit and approached Delquisk wearily. "Hands please. Palms up."

He obeyed her and she carefully inked up both of his hands and pressed them onto a sheet of comparison paper, thanking him for his cooperation. Even if it had taken a warrant to get that far.

Her task complete, the female CSI glanced at Grissom who was sitting awkwardly on the other couch.

"Uh…the tapes, Mr Delquisk?" he asked again, this time hoping for a more polite response.

The man stood up and disappeared into another room, returning only seconds later holding three black tapes. He gave them to Catherine and not to Grissom as if making a favourite of her already.

She smiled, gratefully took all three tapes from him and then turned back to a now standing Grissom. "We should get back to the lab."

He agreed, thanked the man and followed Catherine out.

It was only when they were safely back in the car that Catherine shared her gut feeling. "I don't think Delquisk did this."

Grissom only glanced at her briefly. "The evidence will tell us that."

* * *

Didn't have time to proofread that (watching CSI)

if you see any errors let me know. Thanks xx


	9. Chapter 9

_Star Girls _looked different during the day. The cheap neon sign was not yet illuminated and the curtains that usually covered the window were pulled back, revealing the club in a much brighter light than Nick and Warrick had previously seen it. This made Nick smirk a little as he told Warrick how it almost looked classy.

The front doors were locked and an annoyed voice called out, "We're closed!" when Warrick tried to gain entry.

"Las Vegas Police!" he called back.

A few moments later, Tony Travis came to the door dressed in jeans and a yellow shirt. "You're not the cops," she said, eyeing them suspiciously. "The crime scene guys, right? You bring that warrant?"

Nick held it up. "Actually we're not here about that."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Oh? What do you want then?"

"This might be better if you come down to the PD with us." Warrick explained.

Tony folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about."

The crime scene investigators glanced at one another. "Well could we at least come in?" Nick asked.

She shrugged and pulled the door back wider, allowing their entrance. They followed her inside and stood awkwardly beside one of the tables. Tony didn't bother inviting them to her office this time.

"We…uh…just spoke to Casey's parents, or rather _your _parents," Warrick told her.

Tony toyed with a (false looking) nail on her index finger. Her voice suddenly became very quiet, "I know it doesn't look good, but I'm nothing to do with her disappearance. We just…I met her when she was having some trouble with an ex boyfriend, needed to get away. We swapped names so that he wouldn't find her. She became Casey Wren and I became Antonya Travis so that if this guy did come after her, he'd find _me _instead and she would have just…vanished."

"She wanted to disappear and she did." Nick sighed.

Warrick was still in wonder. "Why swap names? Why didn't she just change her name?"

Her eyes locked on him, Tony explained, "Because going through the proper channels would've taken forever. She needed something quick, and besides, if her ex came looking for her and found me, he might have given up."

"Does this ex boyfriend have a name?" Nick asked.

She paused. "I think it was Todd something."

With a glance at the warrant Nick was still holding, Warrick scanned the back of the club in search of a dressing room area. Even if Tony/Casey was telling the truth about the name swap, they still needed to take a look in the dressing room for any clues they could find about the real Antonya Travis.

Catching him looking straight away, Tony motioned for Nick to pass her the warrant and she looked it over before nodding them on. "I guess if I can't tell you much about Todd you'll want to check out the dressing room?"

Nick smiled tightly as he passed and he and Warrick made their way over to the door at the back of the room marked 'Dressing Room'. Inside they found a white counter running along the left wall with six evenly spaced mirrors tacked to the wall above it and a cheap bar-stool facing each one against the counter. There were a few cosmetics bags dotted along the counter, most with their contents spilling out revealing various lipsticks, creams and powders. Against the opposite wall was a metal block of lockers, each clearly labelled with a girl's name.

"Heather, Amy, Virginia, Lynne and Skye," Warrick read aloud from the labels. "I guess this one belongs to Casey." He pointed to the only blank locker.

"You'd be right there." Tony appeared from the doorway and watched them a moment.

"Hey, you got a key for this?" Nick called when he was unable to prise the door open.

She stepped forward, producing the necklace she had the previous night to open her office with and twisted a small key in the lock. It opened and revealed a pile of clothing.

"That's odd." Warrick noted. "Do your girls usually leave their stuff here?"

She shrugged it off. "I guess some of them have spare clothes in there, yeah. Or sometimes they don't bother getting changed after work."

"Walking home in a showgirl costume must attract the wrong kind of attention." Nick said and he helped Warrick remove the clothes from the locker and bag them as evidence.

"Do you remember the last time you saw..." Warrick paused and considered what to call her, finally making up his mind, "Casey?"

Tony nodded. "Sure, it would have been her last shift. She works Tuesdays and Thursdays with Heather and Skye, and then all my girls work over the weekend. So I guess it was Thursday."

"Anything odd about her?" he asked next.

"Not that I recall."

"Hey, look what I found!" Nick produced a scrap of note paper from the locker and turned it so that Warrick could see the scribbled message.

The worlds were simple. No hidden meanings or lengthy sentences. Just a plain '_Watch out_'

"Well it looks like _someone _was after her." Warrick responded, turning back to Tony. "You sure you don't remember anything else about this Todd guy?"

"Uh…he was at med school I think. She told me he was training to be a doctor."

"She tell you anything else?" Nick checked.

"Nope, but like I said last night, I don't have a personal relationship with my girls. If you come back tonight you can talk to them yourselves, they might have known something."

Nick thought this over. "Was Casey close to any of them?"

"I already told you, I don't know about that. Now if you've finished here I'd like you to leave." she said, her voice rising slightly.

"We're gonna need to take your fingerprints, Miss Travis." Warrick informed her.

She cursed under her breath but was nothing other than polite and allowed them to do their job. They eventually left having collected all the evidence they could find from the locker, plus Tony's fingerprints.

"Still think she's alive?" Warrick grinned as he climbed back into the lab's vehicle.

Nick shot him a look of disdain. "She could be."

"Yeah," the man beside him agreed. "Just make sure you have that 10 bucks ready."


	10. Chapter 10

Gil and Catherine had just arrived back at the lab when they ran into Sara in one of the corridors.

All three paused and stood silently for a moment before Grissom said, "Hey Sara, you spoken to Bobby yet?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "he can't tell me anything specific about the trace. What did you get?" she gestured to the video surveillance tapes Catherine held.

Catherine held up one of the tapes. "From the camera out the back of Delquisk mansion. We're just on our way to see Archie." She paused before adding, "Wanna come?"

Sara declined quickly. "No I…I'm gonna go find Greg."

Grissom watched her as she hurried off down the hallway, receiving a brief raised-eyebrow expression from Catherine. He shrugged it off as they approached the audio/visual lab, and its representative 'lab rat', Archie Johnson.

Archie, oriental-looking in apperance with dark hair and almond shaped eyes, was staring intently at a computer screen as if searching for the meaning of life in the high-resolution pixels. Catherine placed a hand on his shoulder and handed him the three tapes without saying anything. He took them from her and rose from his seat to insert one into another machine. "I heard about your case." He said as he typed something in and the footage appeared on the large screen in front of them. "What am I looking for?"

"Something…_interesting?_" Catherine suggested as she looked up at the screen. It currently showed nothing but the backyard.

The lab technician hit a few more keys and the tape began to fast-forward.

"That tape is from three days ago." Grissom pointed out.

Both Catherine and Archie turned to face him. The female spoke first. "So?"

"So…shouldn't we look first at yesterdays tape?"

"Try that one." Catherine said to Archie, pointing to a second tape.

He picked it up and replaced the first, glancing at the time/date stamp to confirm that the footage was filmed the previous day. A few key strokes later and the minutes at the bottom right of the screen were zooming past.

For a minute or two, the lab was in silence as all three watched the tape zoom through the day. Then suddenly Catherine called out, "Hey! Pause that!"

The screen froze on two dark shapes. "Can you clean that up a little?" Catherine asked as she leaned in to get a better look.

Archie hit some more keys and the screen zoomed in on the shapes, clearing the blurry image a little.

"Is that…?" Catherine stared at the screen attentively.

"Anna Delquisk." Grissom finished her sentence.

"It looks like there's someone else there." Archie said. "Want me to play the tape?"

Catherine nodded him on and he pressed another key, resuming the tape to normal time. The scene played out in front of them. Anna was stood leaning against a wall and another figure, a girl of a similar build was stood in front of her. They were talking, the second girl throwing her arms around Anna just stood with her arms crossed. Then suddenly, Anna reached out and hit the girl. She put her hand to her cheek and hit Anna back. It had reached a full-blown argument now and both girls were lashing out at each other, pulling hair and slapping at the other. It was only when Anna grabbed a fist full of long blond hair that Catherine realised who it was that she was fighting.

"That's Ruby Cartwright!" she exclaimed.

"She a suspect?" Archie asked.

Grissom glanced at him with a vacant expression. "She is now."

* * *

Sara found Greg in the layout room with several crime scene photos spread over the table.

He glanced at her as she entered the room. "Checking up on me?"

"Grissom and Catherine are with Archie. I figured you could probably use a hand." She explained, walking to stand next to him where she could get a better look at what he was doing.

"See this distinct pattern on the neck?" Greg asked, pointing to one of the photographs. "Doc says COD was asphyxia due to strangulation so…I'm thinking the mark could be from some sort of tie the killer held in place as a murder weapon. See the bruising forms finger marks just above?"

Sara pursed her lips as she thought this over, offering a suggestion of her own, "Or…jewellery."

Greg stared at her, nonplussed. "Jewellery?"

"Sure," she said, rolling up her sleeve. "See, the hand span doesn't look very big, could be female." She made a grabbing motion with her hand. "If I had a bracelet on, the impression would be left in the skin."

"The wrist shouldn't come into contact with the skin."

"Look how high the finger marks are." Sara placed her own fingers over the bruising on the picture. "My wrist is touching the area where this mark was made."

"So…we're looking for a woman who wears a bracelet?"

"Lots of women in Vegas wear them, Greg."

"You don't."

She smiled. "How would you know?"

"My observation skills aren't obsolete just because we're not at a crime scene."

"Maybe you should present our findings to Grissom then?" she jokingly suggested, heading for the door but turning to see his reaction.

He followed her out but insisted, "Nah, he likes you better than me."

* * *

With their own evidence to run with, Grissom and Catherine were hurrying out of the AV lab when Sara reached them.

"Hey," she said breathlessly. "I think I know what caused the marks around Anna's neck."

"Good," Grissom smiled. "We think we know who our murderer is."

She pouted a little. He was always one step ahead of her.

"I'm going to call Sofia." Catherine excused herself, turning and heading around a corner.

"You first," Sara demanded, eager to know Grissom's suspect.

"You remember Ruby? She's the girl Sofia questioned."

"Oh, the best friend, right?"

He nodded. "Tape shows them fighting 'couple of hours before her murder."

"And you think she did it?"

"We've got nothing else to go on."

"Well, my evidence supports that. The hand span around Anna's neck looked a little too small to be male. Could be that Ruby and Anna fought and she…strangled her and staged the crime scene to look like a suicide."

"Nice theory, Sara. But let's wait to see what else we can learn."

* * *

"Is someone gonna tell me what I'm doing back here?" Ruby Cartwright spat when Sofia and Catherine entered the interrogation room in which she sat. The young girl was in a change of clothes already, this time dressed in a hot pink tank top and black skinny jeans. Her blonde-and-black hair was still twisted perfectly into plaits and her olive-green eyes stared with annoyance.

Both women took a seat opposite the teenager. Sofia spoke first, "You say you didn't see Anna yesterday?"

"Yeah. I already told you that." She tossed her braided hair over her shoulders mutinously.

"Did you know that Robert Delquisk has a security camera round the back of his house?" Catherine asked.

Ruby shrugged and ran her left index finger along her left eyebrow, smoothing it to perfection. "I guess not."

"You _guess_ not?"

"Well, do _you _take in everything you see?"

Catherine raised her eyebrows slightly and glanced at the detective beside her who wore the same faint expression of amusement. "Actually I do. It's my job."

The girl stared blankly at the glass wall behind them and followed one of the lab techs with her eyes as he dissappeared down the coridor. "Whatever. Can I leave yet?"

"Not just yet." Sofia smiled, placing a video still of Ruby and Anna fighting on the table between her and the suspect. "I'll say it again, you say you didn't see Anna yesterday?"

Ruby flopped back in her seat. "Okay, so I saw her. Big deal. I didn't _kill_ her."

"That's a pretty bracelet you got there, Ruby." Catherine said suddenly, throwing the mood of the interogation though this wasn't necessaraly a negative thing.

The teenager glanced at the gold link-chain bangle that clung to her right wrist. "Yeah. Anna got me it last year for my birthday."

"Mind if I have a look?" the criminalist offered, hoping her friendly tactics would work on the youth.

She shrugged and slipped it easily off her wrist. "Here. Knock yourself out."

Sofia handed Catherine the photograph of Anna's neck and watched as she compared the jewellery item against the markings. Having been a CSI herself, Sofia was familiar with the job and knew what to look for. She didn't need Catherine to tell her that what they had in front of them wasn't a match.

"Thank you." Catherine resumed her warm smiled and gave the bangle back to Ruby.

"So," Sofia continued, pointing a finger at the video still, "it looks like you and Anna had a pretty big fight yesterday."

Ruby gave her trademark shrug. "We just argued. I didn't tell you because I know it don't look good."

"What was your argument about?" Sofia persisted.

"Some guy. Look, me and Anna are…_were_ best friends. There is no way that I could've killer her!"

"This guy," Catherine said, "Rory Tamblyn by any chance?"

Her head shot up. "How do you know about him?"

"Oh, we've met." Catherine replied casually.

"Did he tell you something? Is that why I'm here?"

"What do you know about Rory?" asked Sofia, ignoring her question.

"He was Anna's boyfriend. Did some work at the house for Mr. Delquisk."

"Why were you fighting over him?"

"Look, last week Rory told me he liked and then this week? This week he says he's in love with Anna. I was mad at her."

"So you went round to her house?"

"Yeah, we were going to Amelia's house but then Anna decides she doesn't wanna go."

"Amelia?"

"A friend of ours. So anyway, I got pretty pissed because I knew Rory was working in the house and she probably wanted to be with him instead of out with us."

"And that's when your argument began?"

"I told her what he'd said to me last week and she just…lost it. You've seen the video, Anna probably set it so _someone _would see it. We fought for a bit and then I got out of there. She was very much alive when I left her."

"Where were you at about midnight?"

"I went to Amelia's house after that. I was still there then. You can check if you don't believe me."

Sofia smiled thinly. "Yeah, we'll do that."

* * *

"You think the kid did it?" Sara asked Catherine later as the two women grabbed a bite to eat in the break room. For once the fridge in there was not plagued with one of Grissom's experiments and Sara felt free to eat anything in there without running the risk of food poisoning.

Catherine paused halfway through biting her sandwich. "I don't know. I guess we'll find out when we talk to this Amelia. One thing I do know- Rory Tamblyn is still a suspect. Ruby said he was working in the house last night."

"They could have been in it together. Rory's hands were too big to make him the killer but the prints on the stool are telling a different story."

"Hmm." Catherine thought this over as she took another bite. "It's possible, especially after what Ruby said about her fight with Anna. Two girls, one guy? That never works."

"I guess we just need to re-evaluate the situation. Look over evidence, find out about suspects…" Sara suggested.

Catherine nodded as Mandy entered the room. "Sara! I've been looking everywhere for you, didn't you get my page?"

Sara looked a little concerned. "No…I…is this about the fingerprint results?"

Mandy nodded. "Those prints that you collected from the stool," she said, pausing as though to add suspense, "match Robert Delquisk."

Catherine shock her head sadly. "Looks like we're back where we started."


	11. Chapter 11

The cool night air had a sense of calmness to it. Unusual for the graveyard shift, Warrick Brown thought as he approached Las Vegas' finest, or at least one of them, the crime lab. Having slept for a few hours since his last shift, he was feeling a little more refreshed than the effects of a cup of coffee were capable of and he walked with a confident stride into the lab to find Nick.

He found him hunched over a mug on the break room table and smirked to himself, "Back on the coffee?"

Nick sat up and turned in his direction, holding the mug up as he did so. "Greg's speciality."

"How come Greg doesn't let _me _drink his coffee?" Warrick complained, crossing the room and slipping into a seat opposite Nick.

"Ah, it's a skill." Nick explained, a wide smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

Warrick glanced down at his watch. "Shift started 2 minutes ago. Aren't you supposed to be running Tony's prints against those on that key-card we found at Casey's apartment?"

"One step ahead of you," he grinned. "Already been to see the lovely Mandy, she'll page me if she gets anything significant from the prints."

"And I thought Greg was joking when he said the effects of his coffee were incogitable."

Nick laughed. "You know what is incogitable? I got to work early so I gave Hodges that note we found in Casey's locker, see if he could get anything from mass-spec."

Warrick drew in a breath and gave a high-pitched whistle. "We have been busy."

"Yeah, but that wasn't it. The trace he found on the paper? Octadecyl octadecanoate."

"Which is…?"

"It's found in candle wax."

"So…whoever wrote that note has been in contact with wax." Warrick half-asked, half-sated.

Nick's pager buzzed at that precise moment before he was able to give a clearer explanation and he excused himself to read the message.

"Mandy," he explained a few moments later, "Tony's prints don't match the partials from the key-card. She is in the system though, as Casey Wren, got picked up for prostitution last year."

"Would have saved us a lot of time if someone had done a database search for Casey Wren in the first place." Warrick muttered bitterly.

"Yeah," Nick agreed, "looks like all we got is this wax link."

"Put it with everything else…still doesn't make sense."

"Let's create a timeline here." Nick said imperatively, he really wanted to solve the case and find Casey. He hoped she would be alive but even if he lost the bet...well it was some closure for whatever family she had left. "The neighbour reports a disturbance at her apartment on Wednesday night. Now, according to Tony Travis, she didn't work that night but she was at work on Thursday."

Warrick continued, "Then on Friday, she doesn't show up for work so, being the concerned boss and all, Tony calls her apartment building. She speaks to Leo Ilex, the neighbour, who then reports her missing and the PD send us down there to investigate."

"Now at the apartment, we found nothing unusual except for the kitchen had been removed." Nick said, picking up the order of events. "All her stuff was still there but it looked like some clothes were missing and I found that key-card which, as you said, could belong to anyone in that building."

"Wait a minute." Warrick said abruptly. "The cops questioned Mr. Ilex when he reported it and he said that since the disturbance on Wednesday, she hadn't been seen since."

Nick caught on quickly. "And we know from Tony Travis that she was in work on Thursday."

Warrick nodded. "You think she's lying?"

"I don't know man, maybe the guy from the apartment building meant _he _hadn't seen her since, which is possible, right? She worked nights."

"Giving up already?"

"Huh?"

"You said work_ed. _Past tense."

"I meant her job at _Star Girls_ is in the past tense. She could still be alive….somewhere." Nick defended his theory.

Warrick only smirked. "So anyway, I think we need to talk to Leo Ilex. And to the other girls she worked with."

Nick nodded, half-listening as his pager buzzed a second time. "Ah, another of my favourite ladies," he said as he stood up and leaned lazily against the door-frame. "Looks like you'll have to take a detective with you. I think Brass is in-house."

Warrick gave him a questioning look as he edged further out of the break room door.

"Wendy," he explained, a mock-pained expression forming on his face. "She needs me. Sorry."

* * *

Nick found Wendy Simms in the DNA lab. She was the lab's newest 'DNA girl' and he knew, strictly from what he'd heard around the lab, that it was hoped she'd stay a little longer than those who had previously occupied her job. Sure, she was attractive- dark hair and eyes, pretty smile- but Nick himself had never been a man to take such risks where work was concerned. Again from what he'd overheard, that was more Greg's department. 

"Hey," she greeted him, "got the results back from the bloody tissue you found. First off, the sample was male so I didn't bother checking that against your missing showgirl's DNA. 'Cause you know...I already took a sample of _her _DNA from the toothbrush Warrick gave me and she's definitely female." She paused, cleared her throat a little and started again in a slightly more professional tone. "Instead I ran it through CODIS and…you got lucky." She handed him a rap sheet print out. "Todd Jenkins. In the system for car theft years ago."

"Todd Jenkins," Nick repeated. "Thanks, Wendy."

She smiled at him. "No problem."

* * *

Warrick felt blessed to have Jim Brass as his detective representative when they arrived at Leo Ilex's apartment. So far, the case had been only disrupted by police work and he knew from the experience he had working for the Vegas crime lab and with Captain Brass himself that the detective was not a man to mess things up. They hadn't always gotten on so well- in fact quite the contrary- but they had since learnt to live with each other and made an excellent team when it came to crime solving. Brass was a definitive, no-nonsense sort of man who, together with the help of CSI, had a natural flair for using evidence to interrogate suspects into telling the truth. He had a string of good reports and closed cases under his police-badge-clipped-belt and took good pride in what he did. 

"So, this guy a suspect?" Brass checked before they left the car they had parked outside the apartment block that was home to Leo Ilex and had once been home to Casey Wren.

Warrick shrugged. "I guess so. He's the guy who reported her missing but...it doesn't add up with what her boss said about the last time she was seen. We just need to go over details with him."

The homicide captain seemed to be clear on this and he nodded gently to himself before both men vacated the car and headed to the stairs on the left of the building. Once they had climbed all three flights of stairs, Warrick lead the way to the correct apartment and knocked. Brass instinctively stepped ahead of the criminalist and placed his hand on his gun while they waited for someone to answer the door.

They weren't waiting long before a studious, well-dressed man curiously opened the door to them. He stared apprehensively before questioning their presence in a loose southern accent that almost seemed out of place in contrast to the man himself.

"I'm detective Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police." He identified himself, flashing the badge to authenticate what he was saying. "This is Warrick Brown from the crime lab."

"Police?" he gasped and clapped his hands together a little. "You 've found her, haven't you? You've found Casey." His voice sounded noticeably high-pitched and youthful for a grown man, little girlish Warrick thought to himself.

"Not exactly," Brass said. "We'd like to ask you a few more questions about the initial missing persons report you made."

His brow creased in anxious frown lines and perplexing before he nodded the captain on. "Yes?"

"You say that Casey hasn't been seen since Wednesday. But her boss says she turned up for work on Thursday." Brass said, getting straight to the point as usual.

Leo Ilex was silent for a moment while he considered his words. Then he responded with, "Well, it's perfectly possible that she _was _still around on Thursday. I simply stated that I personally hadn't seen her since Wednesday. And what with the argument I heard I just presumed..."

"Did you go over to see if she was alright after this argument you heard?" Warrick asked.

The man seemed taken-aback by the question, a slight look of anger reddening his plumper-than-average cheeks. "I most certainly did Mr...Brown was it? Anyway, of course I went over there but no-one answered the door."

"And you didn't call the cops 'til Friday?" Brass reminded him sharply.

"Yes well...well I suppose I didn't think that anything had..." he trailed off sadly. "It was only when her boss called on Friday that I thought about it logically. If I have done anything to impend your investigation then I am awfully sorry."

Warrick frowned, uncertain of the man. "Did she mention anything about Casey being in work on Thursday?"

Leo Ilex shook his head. "No...I mean...I could be mistaken but...no I am quite sure she did not, or else I would have mentioned it to the police."

Brass nodded. "Could you tell me what exactly you overheard on Wednesday?"

"Shouting. An argument I guess. There was Casey's voice definitely and someone else...I think a man. I couldn't make out what they were saying but the walls in these apartments aren't very thick and it felt like things were been thrown against them."

"And you haven't seen or heard from her since?"

"No." He said quickly. " I have already told you this."

Warrick glanced at Brass, both of them kew there was only so far you could push a suspect.

"Any more questions? I really have to be somewhere." Mr Ilex said impationtly.

"No, no that's all." Brass said. "But if you remember anything else-"

He was cut off by the suspect thrusting a business card in his face. "Here. Take this if you need to contact me again. I don't intend in staying around here much longer."

Brass took the card and the two men walked slowly back to their vehicle.

"What do you think?" asked Brass once he was seating comfortably back in the driver's seat.

Warrick could only shrug. "Nothing is making sense. I just hope Nick's got something good from DNA."

* * *

While Warrick and Brass were out, Nick Stokes had tracked down his new suspect according to DNA evidence, one of the most accurate available. Todd Jenkins was a medical student from San Fransisco. Aside from the car theft which never even made court, the guy had managed to avoid brush-ins with the law. But seeing as how he fitted Toy's description of the 'obsessive ex boyfriend', it looked like he was about to face a murder charge. And if not murder, abduction of some sort. This case was as good as closed, Nick was sure of it.

* * *

**AN:(Read it!) So, I don't have word processing software on my computer anymore and I am not honestly sure when I will be able to resolve that problem. That does not mean that I won't update, it just means that updates will be scarce for a little while. I managed this chapter without the use of any software but the problem I have with continuing this method is that I am not a brilliant speller and with no word processor, I can't correct these mistakes (please point any out that you see)**

**By the way...I'm sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. I was going to wait until I had a new software program but it doesn't look like that's going to happen anytime soon so this will have to do for now. Thank you for sticking with me! x Amber**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:Wow! Been a while since I updated, huh? (I suggest you scan the other chapters to refresh your memories) Sorry about that, I lost my word processing program and then I went on holiday for a while and when I got back my PC got a nasty virus and it's taken a while to get back to where I was with the story but hopefully I haven't gone too far off track with this.**

* * *

Differences set aside, Catherine and Sara found themselves back at Robert Delquisk's Palm Street mansion. It was approaching 8AM, end of shift as far as Sheriff Brian Mobley was concerned. Overtime meant overpay and the stingy man, who claimed his life was devoted to law enforcement, almost always dismissed cases overtime unless they were incredibly high priority (in order words, involving a friend of his)

The women were working off their own backs now, and for Catherine, that meant missing Lindsey going to school. The teenage girl was used to her mother's absence but that didn't make it any easier for Catherine to juggle her career and her personal life.

"I really didn't think he was our guy…" Catherine sighed while they waited for the door to open.

"Maybe he isn't." Sara said. "The bruising around Anna's neck showed only a small hand span. We can check but I don't think his hands are small enough."

A groggy-looking Robert Delquisk stood before them a few moments later. "This had better be good." He yawned, looking from Sara to Catherine expectantly.

"You staged the crime scene." Sara said plainly, unable to stop herself.

He looked blank. "Excuse me?"

Catherine frowned at her colleague and stepped in quickly. "Your handprint, Mr Delquisk", she explained, keeping eye contact with him to watch his reaction to her words, "matched the handprint Miss Sidle here lifted from Anna's desk stool."

He shrugged. "You think that's unusual?"

"Do you own a gun?" Sara asked suddenly.

Delquisk looked to Catherine for an explanation but when she said nothing he lifted a hand to the back of his head. "I…uh…no….I didn't want…with Anna in the house…"

Catherine nodded knowingly as if she shared a parental bond with the man, but shook it off quickly. "Can you explain, then, why your prints found on the stool had traces of a substance commonly known as gun oil in them?"

"No." He said quickly, defensively. "No I can't explain that. Are you sure that's what it was? I mean, it could have been any sort of oil. I just got a new car, it could be-"

"It's gun oil." Sara cut him off. "And that means that you're a liar."

The man stared taken-aback. "Look, I did not kill Anna!"

"Cut the crap." Catherine said producing the paper secret weapon she carried. "This search warrant means that if you _did_ kill her, I am going to find evidence of it and I am going to find justice for Anna. Step aside please."

Looking lost in his own home, Delquisk stood dumbfounded and clutching the warrant while the two women entered his home. The supposed friendly intruders boasted of their crime-solving abilities. But they hadn't found Anna's killer, had they? They were dragging this out, making more newspaper stories and bad publicity for him. He did not need that. His daughter was dead. Did these people have no emotions? Did they not understand what it was like to lose someone like that? He didn't want to walk into a room and feel like everyone was talking about him. He didn't want his hopes to shatter when new police leads turned to nothing but dead ends. Why couldn't they just accept that _he _didn't want this? He just wanted it to look like suicide. Suicide was a public thing, yes, but something that would end quickly rather than long-winded murder investigations that never came to anything other than more heartache for him. It wasn't _their _daughter found lying there on her bed so still and empty. Robert hadn't wanted this for her, to drag her name through the mud and make her seem suicidal, unstable. He had even insulted his own parenting skills because people were supposed to think that she depressed and that he didn't know, couldn't help her. It seemed ridiculous but what choice did he have? It was the best option he had at the time: compromising a murder scene to make it look like suicide. He had been scared and not thinking straight. It hadn't even crossed his mind that there would be a formal investigation into her death. He assumed that a suicide was a suicide and that was that. But now he had inadvertently implicated himself into her murder and even the pretty blonde former dancer who had previously looked at him with sympathy couldn't help him. She was against him now; out to find evidence of a crime that he did not commit and would never admit to committing.

"You know, I'm starting to wish we'd brought Grissom along." Delquisk heard the brunette say as she gazed around the larger-than-average foyer of his house: the materialistic dream home he had spent his life earning for Anna.

Catherine shrugged. "Upstairs or downstairs?"

As both women disappeared, Robert was left with the view of the foyer, empty save for the telephone table. Setting his eyes upon the oak furnishing, his whole body froze up. Inside the slightly open drawer, he knew, was the key to his safe. In the safe he had stashed the gun. He had lied about ownership of it but hadn't realised when he staged the crime scene that the oil from the brand-new weapon had been on his hands. And now who would believe him that the only reason he possessed such an item was for Anna's safety? He should have disposed of it as soon as the cops were gone that first night. He hadn't bought it legally so it couldn't be linked to him. Now he knew that even if the key wasn't discovered by one of the women they would ask for it. And a warrant gave him no right to refuse their request. Once the gun was recovered from the safe it would prove only that he was a liar. It did not make him a murderer. He had seen the autopsy report: Anna had been strangled not shot. A psychologist might speculate that not admitting to owning a gun made him a dangerous man, perhaps a man with intend to murder, perhaps a man who could strangle his own daughter in cold blood and think he could get away with it. But Robert Delquisk was none of those things and the sort of lawyers he could afford could easily convince a jury that he wasn't. If LVPD wanted to pin this on anybody it would be the Tamblyn boy. Robert himself would make sure of it. He had never liked the sleazy, perverted way the young man looked upon his daughter. It was as if she was a whore rejected from the street corner outside his casino the way he looked at her. Those women were all Tamblyn could have. But not Anna, he could never have Anna and he knew it. She was too good for that, too good for him. After all, he _could_ be her killer. He was in the house though he said he left her alive. Whether the police knew it or not, the little handyman boy was the last person to see his daughter alive and he could well have had some involvement in her murder if he himself did not kill her.

Sara Sidle took downstairs and wandered into the kitchen situated at the back of the house. It was startlingly pristine with professionally cleaned white cabinets and granite worktops. The tiled floor was damp probably, she thought eyeing the mop propped against the nearest wall, from a recent cleaning. She stepped carefully around the damp patches and opened the drawers and cupboards, finding nothing of interest. The white plastic garbage bin hidden away in one of the cupboards took her interest and she lifted the lid and shone her flashlight inside. Inside she found countless ready-meal packets but there didn't seem to be much of anything else.

Satisfied, she turned and returned to the front room. Aside from a couple of sports magazines scattered across the low coffee table, the room was spotless. The whites and creams of the neutral room made it look featureless and there were no pictures or ornaments hanging around to give it personality. Sara figured that Robert Delquisk probably didn't spend much time here. She took a brief look around, lifting up the sofa cushions and looking behind the television set. When she was about to leave, she stood and leaned back against the wall behind her, realising how strangely hollow it felt. She turned to examine it, shining light up and down the nearby wall panels and tapping lightly on each. Feeling a slight ridge beneath the wall, she pushed at it until it eventually gave way and pushed inwards to reveal a metal vault of some sort at the bottom. She frowned and bent down to inspect it, discovering that it was locked. Delquisk owned a major casino, she thought, the safe probably contained money that he didn't want to have around the house. But she had to be sure…

Outside, Delquisk still stood fretting with nerves and indecision over what he should do to get himself out of the frame for murder. The only alibi he had was the street kid he had bought the gun from. And there was no-way _he _would go talk to the cops for him. The kid was in enough trouble with the law to know how to avoid them. They stood no chance of tracking him down. He paced anxiously, trying to clear his mind. It was too late. When he turned back to face the house he saw the brunette CSI heading his way. She had found the safe where the gun was hidden. She wanted the key. There was no escape. In that instant he stopped trying to think of a way out and instead tried to remember his lawyer's number.

* * *

There were two people left to interview at LVPD. One was on-going suspect Rory Tamblyn, whose hand prints didn't match those found at the scene but was still in the house after Delquisk left the evening of Anna's murder. The other was Amelia Stacey, the friend who Ruby had claimed to be with at the time. Greg and Grissom, together with Sofia and Brass had the job of doing these interviews. Grissom went with Brass for the full interrogation on Rory while Greg and Sofia went to talk to Amelia.

* * *

The Stacey family lived in a small homely cottage on a suburban street. Amelia was 15, Allen and Jean Stacey's eldest daughter, and had been a childhood friend to both Anna Delquisk and Ruby Cartwright. Straight after Sofia knocked on the door, a woman prematurely aged by her sagging clothes and deep frown lines answered the door. Her brown hair was greying and her eyes seemed to be a greyish colour too. On her hip she held a toddler of no more than 2 years old who was giggling hysterically at something. She lifted the child higher up, his sticky fists grabbing at her oversized pink t-shirt, and asked the man and woman on her doorstep what they wanted.

Sofia lifted her badge to the woman's line of sight. "Mrs Stacey?" she waited for a response but when the woman did nothing she continued, "I'm detective Sofia Curtis. This is Greg Sanders. Is your daughter Amelia in?"

Allowing the toddler to slide down her blue jeans and land on the thick red carpet, she looked Sofia in the eye for the first time before whispering, "Is this about the Delquisk girl?" 'Cause my Amelia ain't n'thing to do with that."

"We don't suspect her of being, Mrs Stacey. We just need to speak to her." Sofia assured the woman tactfully.

Jean Stacey eyed Greg's forensic vest before nodding them on and letting them in. She scooped the boy from where he stood at the foot of the stairs and called upstairs to her daughter.

Only a matter of seconds passed before a teenage girl, presumably Amelia Stacey, came quickly down the stairs. She looked youthful and innocent, strangely contrasting to Ruby in how she looked. Her hair was strawberry blonde and cut so that it fell in a thick fringe across her forehead. Her eyes were as grey as her mother's, though larger and closer together and she was dressed in a green turtle-neck sweater and black skinny jeans. At the bottom of the stairs she smiled coyly at Sofia and Greg.

Her mother juggled the whimpering toddler on her hip and showed the visitors into the sitting room. Her face reddened at the embarrassing sight of toys strewn carelessly across the furniture and hurried to clear a space for which the CSI and detective could sit.

Amelia sat with her hands in her lap on the couch while Greg shifted in his seat, uncomfortably close to Jean Stacey who had chosen to squash in beside him.

"Amelia, I'm detective Curtis." Sofia began. "I'm here to ask you some questions about your friend, Ruby."

The girl spoke for the first time, revealing a gentle, girlish voice that emphasised her youth. "Ruby? What did she do?"

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. When did you last see her?

Confused by the question, Amelia's face looked blank and she stared at her hands for a while before answering. "Friday night. I invited some people over."

"And do you remember what time Ruby left?"

The teenager shrugged. "It was later than the rest. Nearing 1 I guess."

"Can you be more specific?" Greg asked, edging further away from Jean Stacey.

Amelia began to bite her nails as though nervous but when it came to answering the question she just shook her head.

Greg and Sofia exchanged exasperated looks.

"Was there anything else?" Mrs Stacey asked, heaving a now sleeping child gently onto her knee.

"I think that's all." Sofia sighed, standing up.

Greg was quick to follow suit. "Uh…we'll be in touch if we need anything else, Mrs Stacey."

Jean Stacey looked up quickly. "Won't be here if yah do. Allen and I are taking the kids away for a while."

Reaching the exit, Sofia stopped and frowned. "Will you be leaving a contact number?"

The mother shook her head. "'Fraid not. But look, ah really don't see how mah Amelia is involved with this. She's a great gal, great student and e'rything. Ask her teacher!"

The words interested Sofia for a moment. Why was Mrs Stacey so intent on proving her daughter's innocence? Why was Amelia's schooling of any relation to Anna Delquisk? But there was the chance…Sofia smiled tightly. "Her teacher?" she repeated, speaking of Amelia in third person but directing the question at her rather than her mother. "Does he happen to teach Anna Delquisk too?"

Amelia spoke before her mother, causing the woman to look a little disheartened as she looked on as though her daughter could never phrase an answer as sufficiently as she could.

"Mom means Mrs Price." She stated first, locking eye contact with Sofia. "She takes me and Ruby and…and Anna…for geography."

Greg chanced a knowing look at Sofia even though the burning stare of Jean Stacey probably saw all. He then turned, catching the mother's eyes fro a moment before shifting his gaze to the reticent Amelia still sat in her clasped-hands-curled-up posture on the chair. "Is there any way we could contact this…Mrs Price?" he asked politely.

The girl flinched uneasily as though a plaster had been removed from an old wound.

Jean Stacey was quick to cover for her daughter's lack of answering. "Um….I think we ha' her phone number tacked to the fridge," she smiled and turned to look at Amelia before finishing her sentence, "don't we, honeh?"

Greg watched Amelia move her head in a vague attempt at an indication that she was correct.

Jean got to her feet. "I'll just be getting' that for yah." She carefully lifted the sleeping toddler from her lap and placed him down in her place on the sofa cushion. Then she elbowed her way past Sofia, literally shoving her into Greg, as she passed the pair stood in the doorway.

The moment his mother left the room, the little boy woke up promptly and tested his lungs with an over-powering scream that sent Amelia rushing to pick him up off the sofa. As she lifted her brother to her hips and rocked him gently, he kicked out at her in protest. On her return, Jean rushed to take the child from her daughter as though she was a four year old playing with matches, and not a fifteen year old trying to calm her brother. Her back was to Sofia and Greg but both of them sensed the angry scowl she gave Amelia before she turned to face them with one hand resting on her son's back, the other holding out a scrap of paper. Sofia took it from her and scanned over the numbers scribbled in a hurried, broken script that handwriting analysis would say was that of a stressed woman.

Sofia gave her most convincing smile and thanked the woman. As she and Greg were leaving, Jean called out to them, "You jus' call that number if there's anything yah wanna know 'bout my gal. She'll tell yah."

Before the front door was even shut, Greg let out a huge sigh of relief and said, "Glad we're out of there. Was she into me or what?"

Sofia smirked at the younger man. "Was she into proving her daughter's innocence or what?"

"Well, Amelia's not really a suspect." Greg pointed out as they reached the Denali they had ridden in on the way there.

"Exactly. I wouldn't be so suspicious of it if she was."

"I guess we should give the school teacher a call." He suggested as he climbed in the passenger seat.

Sofia twisted the keys in the ignition before replying with, "I'll leave that job to you since you're such the ladies man today."

Greg smiled, grabbed his cell phone and punched in the number written on the paper Sofia had left on the dashboard.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait! You might need to re-read a bit if you're a faithful reader, remind yourself of the plot and characters. I was so excited to get this up, I didn't really get much of a chance to proof-read the very last section so point out any errors if you see them and I'll try to get that fixed. Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me on this fic and hopefully to some new readers too!

* * *

**After Captain Brass had left to go help Grissom with his case, Nick and Warrick contacted the man listed as Todd Jenkins: prime suspect. 

When Nick spoke to him, he said he was willing to come down to the PD and the CSIs agreed to wait for him. Fifteen minutes passed before a muscular, well tanned man with sandy blonde hair waltzed into the department and asked to see Nick Stokes.

Nick and Warrick hurried around the corner to greet the man and kindly drag him to the nearest unoccupied interrogation room.

"Mr. Jenkins?" Nick checked when they reached him.

The man nodded, shaking the ridiculous hairstyle he currently sported as though he was modelling in a shampoo advert. "That's right. Are you Nick Stokes?" Despite the 'male-model' image the man gave off, he actually spoke with a clear, intelligent voice.

"Yeah, this is Warrick Brown. Uh…if you wouldn't mind coming this way, Sir." He gestured along the hallway to where the interrogation rooms resided.

Todd Jenkins followed them and sat down slowly. Warrick watched as his eyes danced around the room, concentrating on nothing in particular for short periods of time before looking somewhere else and then finally meeting the criminalist's stare. He smiled politely and clasped his hands out in front of him on the table.

"Are you familiar with this woman?" Nick asked first, selecting a youthful picture of the real Casey Wren, now calling herself Tony Travis, and tossing it on the table.

Jenkins leaned forward and promptly shook his head.

"Okay." Nick retracted the picture. "Does the name Casey Wren mean anything to you?"

"No…" Jenkins replied suspiciously. "Should it?"

Nick shrugged. "How about Antonya Travis?"

"Well, she's the reason I'm here." He stated. "That much I know. Why? Did something happen? She never called the cops on me before."

"She didn't." Warrick said firmly. "Mr. Jenkins, when was the last time you saw Ca-…Antonya?"

Todd Jenkins seemed to think this over for a moment before looking directly at Warrick and answering, "Oh, it's been a long time. She walked out on me a few months back. I looked for her but she never showed up so I assumed she'd got a new life…with someone else. Is she okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned but after lying through his teeth, both Nick and Warrick were convinced it was an act.

"That's real interesting." Warrick said as calmly as he could manage. "'Cause your DNA was found on a bloody tissue we pulled outta her trash. You were in her apartment recently."

Jenkins stared, defeated, at his hands. "I didn't go there to harm her."

"She's _missing_." Nick said sharply. "And you didn't go there to harm her?"

He looked up with surprise. "Are you saying…you can't think that…you don't think _I _killed her?"

"How do you know she's dead?" Nick asked, hoping he had caught the man off guard.

Jenkins only shrugged. "I just thought…well you hear about these things. Girls going missing I mean. _How many of them are found_?"

"We'll do the detective work." Warrick reminded him, his voice a little louder than it needed to be. "So what were you doing at her apartment?"

"Girl walks out on you," he began, "how would you react? I went looking for her, yeah. I went to her apartment, yeah. I got a nose bleed. And she cleaned it up for me."

Nick leaned closer. "And?"

"And she chucked me out. I swear to you I have not seen her since."

"When was this?"

"Wednesday."

"A neighbour claimed there was a disturbance at her apartment on Wednesday night. Are you sure noting else happened?" Warrick checked.

"We argued a bit." He admitted. "It wasn't anything serious. I was angry because she'd left me. She told me she had moved on and I realised she wasn't going to see sense and left like she asked."

Nick looked up at Warrick. The man's story fit and right now they didn't have any other evidence to suggest he was lying.

"Okay Mr. Jenkins, you can go now." Nick sighed hopelessly.

"Wait!" Warrick yelled as the suspect reached the door. "When you were at her apartment, did you notice anything…odd?"

Jenkins looked confused. "Like what?"

"Like a missing kitchen."

"As far as I'm aware the kitchen was all there on Wednesday." He recalled, waiting for a few moments longer as thought expecting an explanation. When he did not receive one, he marched out and disappeared down the hallway.

"What do you think?" Nick asked Warrick once Todd Jenkins was gone.

In response, Warrick shrugged his shoulders. "Who else do we have to suspect?"

"Well, we haven't spoken to the other…employees at _Star Girls _yet." Nick said with hope.

The other man took a glance at his wrist watch. "We should head down there now."

Agreeing, Nick followed him out to the parking lot and climbed into a Denali, another courtesy car belonging to LVPD. Warrick took to the driver's seat and both men remained silent on the drive to the alley way that was the cheap home of _Star Girls._

Once again, they entered to find the security guard holding a plastic container and demanding an entrance fee. Warrick simply raised his I.D and the kid nodded both of them through.

Tony wasn't around on a first glance. The only thing either man could see were sequined costumes glinting in the dim light and the bar to the left of them. Nick gestured towards it and they approached the only man behind the bar. He was middle-aged, dressed scruffily and had more hair on the arms he was using to lean against the bar than he had on his head.

As the bar tender was apparently oblivious to the men stood in front of him, Warrick coughed to get his attention doing so resulted in the man muttering a lazy, "Yeah?" without looking at them.

"We're looking for Tony Travis?" Warrick yelled above the thudding music.

The man smirked and waved towards one of the far tables. "She's down there."

The direction they had been instructed to lead to the tables in the space closest to the dressing room and Nick wondered if he had meant she was in there. When one of the dancers jumped from the table and stood expectantly in front of them, they realised that she wasn't.

In a glittering bright orange corset and a feather head-dress, Tony Travis looked more than a little different. "You two again," she said dully. "What do you want this time?"

Warrick's phone rang at that moment and he excused himself from the conversation to go outside and answer it.

Only a second later did the impatient older man, who was sitting at Tony's table, finish his drink and leave despite her shouting after to him that she'd only be a minute. This did not put her in a good mood.

"I've just lost my customer. Now, what do you _want_?" She demanded.

"We were hoping we could speak to your…dancers." Nick said.

Tony laughed. "Sweetie, do you _see _a lady who isn't busy keeping the patrons happy?"

Nick took a glance around. She was right, he didn't see a dancer who wasn't working. But wasn't this more important? He opened his mouth to tell her so but she chose that moment to loop her arms around his neck and whisper into his ear, "You know, I could keep you entertained while you wait for your friend."

"Miss Travis, it's really important that we talk to the girls." He insisted, trying to break free of her.

"I said no. This is my busiest night!"

"I really think our murder case is more important than your business." Warrick said from behind them.

Tony let go of Nick instantly. "Murder? You said she was missing, not dead."

"Yeah, well we just found a body."

Nick looked as shocked as she did but did his best to remain professional. "Miss Travis, we can either do this here or downtown."

Rolling her eyes at the men, she crossed to the nearest occupied table and yanked the arm of the dancer in a feathered pink outfit that resembled a flamingo, before briefly apologising to her customer and dragging the girl towards them.

"This is Lynne." She explained with a slight smirk. "Talk all you want."

Lynne smiled at them childishly.

"Are you friends with Casey Wren?" Warrick asked, raising his voice so that she could hear him. She didn't. His eyes made a quick scan of the other dancers around them, looking for Tony and wondering why she hadn't allowed them to use a more private space for something as serious as this case had now become.

Nick repeated the question but she just stared vacantly at them before eventually responding…in a language that sounded Dutch.

"You don't speak English?" Warrick checked but she just blinked.

"Great…" Nick muttered sarcastically.

Tony who had switched places with Lynne returned to join them, a wide smile creeping across her face. "Any luck boys?"

"She doesn't speak English." Warrick said, though he was aware that she already knew that.

Tony threw her hand over her mouth in mock embarrassment. "Well, I said I didn't know my girls personally."

Warrick folded his hands over his chest. "We've tried playing nice with you. Do _any _of them speak English?"

"Sure," she smiled politely as though she hadn't purposely chose Lynne because she knew she wasn't English, "see, some of the creeps that come in here like it when a girl talks to him. I say: whatever turns you on." She winked and beckoned for another girl to come over.

The dancer, this one dressed in what looked like a studded blue bikini, walked over to them and smiled at them in a cheerfully false way that was probably the best a girl who spent her nights in a smoke-filled room while drunk old men leered at her could do.

"Amy, these are some guys from the crime lab who like to pretend they're badass cops and want to ask you some questions about Casey." Tony explained to the girl.

She nodded solemnly. "I saw you here the other night."

"Is there somewhere quieter we can go?" Nick yelled over the throbbing beats of the sound system.

Tony reached down into her stiletto and produced a key. "Here," she pressed it into Nick's hand, "use the private dancing booths. But don't go taking advantage of my girls!"

Amy led the way and Nick unlocked the door so that all three could acquaint themselves with what was basically a larger version of the bar tables. The CSIs sat uncomfortably on the red vinyl seating that covered the left and rear walls, while Amy hoisted herself up onto the table with her legs dangling over the edge as though she was seducing a rich customer.

"Casey," Amy began before any questions were asked, "is a sweet kid. It would just be awful if anything's happened to her." She finished with a flat sigh and a quick gaze down at the men.

Nick wasn't sure of her sincerity. If this was a film, she would be a bad actress. "Are you and Casey friends?" he asked, careful not to change his tense because he didn't know how much they should tell Amy just yet.

She shrugged –if lifting one's shoulders a little and looking bored constitutes for a shrug- and told them that Casey hadn't really made friends with anyone there.

"But you say she's a sweet kid." Warrick reminded her. "Did you talk to her often?"

Another robotic shrug. "She was just a girl. We exchanged hellos every now and again and sometimes she walked to the end of the street with Heather and I once shift was over."

"Only sometimes?" asked Nick.

"Yeah, she said some guy was following her so most of the time she got a cab straight from work."

Warrick wondered if they had just found something else to pin on Todd Jenkins. "This guy, she tell you anything about him? Did you know him?"

"Nope," Amy said quickly. "I didn't ask questions."

"Did she get a cab from work on Thursday?" Nick asked, knowing this had been her last day at _Star Girls_.

"Don't work Thursdays." Amy smiled apologetically, though it was obvious she couldn't care less whether she had been a help to them or not. She jumped like a gymnast from the table edge and walked, as if to leave, to the door before turning her head in a casual motion and adding, "You could ask Heather."

But of course, right at that moment Heather was unavailable by Tony's standards. Instead, she sent a curvy red-head in nothing but a sequined green thong their way.

She sat on the seating at the opposite side of the table to Nick and Warrick and drummed her manicured finger nails against the table top. "I'm Skye. What do you want?"

"Uh…Casey Wren…" Nick stumbled, shocked at her introduction.

"You talk much to her?" Warrick filled in the blanks.

Skye snorted as though he had suggested that she drowned kittens in her spare time. "That skinny chick? I didn't think she _could _talk. At least I've never heard her."

"You don't know anything about the guy that was following her then?" Nick picked up.

"Oh, sure, I heard someone mention it. But if you ask me, that girl was just making it up."

Warrick frowned. "Why would she do that?"

With a casual toss of her head, Skye responded with, "For, like, attention or something."

"You think Casey was that sort of person?" Warrick wondered.

"How would I know? I'm just saying, I think she was," the dancer retorted, turning to look at herself in the mirrored wall panel behind her head. "We done now?" she said, still checking her appearance, "Money Bags just arrived."

Taking interest in this, Nick leaned forwards. "A customer of yours?"

She smoothed the top of her hair before replying, "A rich one."

"Does he know Casey?" Warrick asked, beginning to see the same level of interest that Nick had.

Skye paused. "It's weird. I didn't realise he did 'cause I never saw them together or nothing but he's been asking after her recently."

Both men thought her words over for a second. Warrick was the first to speak." Think we could have a chat with this 'Money Bags'?"

"If you don't keep him long," she said almost painfully, "I gotta make my dough somehow!"

Cautiously, the two criminalists followed Skye to a quiet table seating a smartly-dressed man who wore a contrasting brown hat pulled low onto his face as though by concealing his identity he was concealing the rest of his life; what he liked to do in his spare time; the very fact that he was sitting in a sleazy strip club waiting for some girl to come back from police questioning.

Skye leaned over the table and whispered something in the man's ear. He pulled the hat a little lower and slipped further into the shadows like his wife had just entered the building and he didn't want to be found.

"Sorry about these clowns." Skye said loud enough for Nick and Warrick to hear. "They're looking for that chick- _Casey_. Yo' remember her?"

'Money Bags' seemed frozen in a debate with his own mind. Should he lie or tell the truth? Was answering 'yes' going to lead to the sort of trouble that a respected, middle-class, middle-aged businessman didn't need? Was answering 'no' going to land him in any trouble with the police?

Eventually he decided on a sort of half-nod followed by a murmur that Skye had to translate into her terms for them.

"Says he knows her- not well enough to answer your dumb questions."

Warrick was beginning to get a little annoyed at just how casual Tony and her customers were treating this case. "I really don't think it's up to him, _or you_, to decide the nature of our questions. We need to talk to as many of her known acquaintances as possible. Now we can either do this here or we can go downtown."

Before Skye could say anything, her customer carefully removed his hat and stood up so to follow Warrick and Nick to a quieter area. "Perhaps you'll need to speak with me again, Mr Brown." Leo Ilex said sheepishly.

The direction of the questions originally set up for an unknown strip club customer nicknamed "Money Bags' and with an interest in a missing, now dead, person changed drastically when Nick and Warrick realised that this guy wasn't just any customer of _Star Girls_ or of Casey herself, he was her concerned neighbour who had reported her missing.

Obviously embarrassed to have been caught in such a degrading place, Ilex sat in the private dance booth with the small table separating him from the crime scene investigators. He kept his head bowed and his hands clasped in his lap.

"You…come here often?" Nick began, unsure of what to say.

Leo Ilex didn't look up. "Only two or three times a week. I'm not like the majority of the male sex represented out there. I just…" he sighed, leaving his final sentence nothing more than a fragment of what he was going to say.

"But you knew Casey worked here, right?" Warrick checked.

"I did."

Warrick continued, "Were you here on Thursday?"

There was a long pause before Ilex finally gave any sort of response. "Oh, I'd feel awful if Casey's come to any harm. You understand, when she didn't answer the door the night before….and all that shouting! Well I simply wanted to know that she was alright. Forgive me for being dishonest with you but what sort of man wants to associate himself with such a place? I'm not in any bother am I? I did all I could to help Casey. Her boss calling on Friday was all it took for me. She was scared that an ex lover was after her, presumably the man from Wednesday night. What was I supposed to think? I'll never forgive myself if something happened to her."

The two men had not been prepared for such a long speech and exchanged glances of uncertainty. Neither knew why Ilex was going to such great lengths to prove his sincerity.

"Something did happen to her," Warrick muttered sombrely, almost afraid to say it. "We just recovered a body."

"God no. Where?"

"You know the garbage heap off the industrial park?"

"Yes, I run a candle factory around that area. And to think of her…dead…"

"I don't think we'll need anything else from you right now Mr Ilex." Nick finished. "But you'll need to amend your official statement about the last time you saw her. We're looking at a murder now."

Ilex seemed only too happy to help, "Oh yes, of course." He stood up, replaced his hat and disappeared to a nearby table.

Nick and Warrick found Tony again to remind her that they might not be finished just yet. None of the other dancers seemed close to Casey but it was still vital to their investigation that they spoke to Heather, especially now Ilex had brought up the idea of some guy following her.

"Think we need to bring Todd Jenkins back in?" Nick asked a tired Warrick on the way back to their vehicle.

His colleague did nothing but shrugged. "On what grounds? What Ilex just said? You know we're gonna need more than that."

Nick placed a reassuring hand on his back. "We'll get him. Doc's got the body now. There must be something that can help us out."

The rest of the drive was silent as both men struggled to fit the pieces together in their heads.


End file.
